


Redshift

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: All sexual interactions are in human form, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Pansexual Character, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 130,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2656796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For seventy years, the Winter Soldier has been a legend, a ghost whose identity was hidden from friends and foes alike. After the firefight on the bridge, Steve thinks he recognizes his friend.</p><p>He's wrong.</p><p>  <i>Redshift: A shift toward the red end of the spectrum; longer wavelengths of light emitted by an object that is moving away from the viewer.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Redshift (Красное смещение)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213207) by [belca77777](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belca77777/pseuds/belca77777)



> "Can we write a little Halloween ficlet about a werewolf?"  
> "Sure!"
> 
> 123,000+ words later, that _ficlet_ is done!
> 
> As always, this was a group endeavor. We're so grateful to our betas and cheerleaders. They are, in alphabetical order: Coriolana, littlerosetrove, scriptrixlatinae, swimmingfrug, and zephyrfox. Thank you, guys! And belated thanks to teaforlupin, who is once again our specialist beta! Also, even more belated thanks (sorry, our memories are horrible!) to Vilkasdaina for the canine/lupine anatomy lessons regarding Bucky's arm! :)
> 
>  
> 
> _This is not a work in progress! We'll be posting one chapter a day until the entire story is up._

The quinjet was the only perfect machine in the otherwise unfinished hangar. Only half of the platforms had handrails, the lights were bare bulbs, and even the other quinjets were down for maintenance. It was a matter of luck — for once — that this quinjet was flight-ready at all.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey said, gawking at the interior of the quinjet, set up to take the Avengers into battle. “Holy _fucking_ shit.”

“Brilliant, I know,” Tony said, pushing Rhodey towards the cockpit. “I made a couple upgrades, but it’s like any other plane.”

“Yeah, like an abacus is like a fuckin’ Mac.”

“Mac,” Tony scoffed. “I should’ve bought Apple when I had the chance.”

“You were like twelve —” Rhodey’s breath whooshed out when Tony shoved him into the pilot’s seat. “Jesus. I can’t fly this thing!”

“Shut up. You’ve flown the space shuttle.”

“Yeah, but —”

“You _stole_ War Machine.”

“Iron Pat—”

“Do not,” Tony warned. “Preflight checks, JARVIS. Take good care of them.”

“Very good, sir. Welcome aboard, Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS’ cool, soothing voice said.

“JARVIS, what the fuck is Tony up to?” Rhodey asked.

“I often make that very inquiry myself, Colonel.”

_Thank God for JARVIS,_ Tony thought, bolting back down the aisle. He threw off his cashmere dinner jacket and almost strangled himself in the effort to get rid of the damned bow tie. Lousy timing for a charity dinner, and he _hated_ wearing a tux under his suit. His _real_ suit.

Then he amended his earlier thought: _Thank God for me._ He invented JARVIS, after all.

In another instance of perfect timing, the elevator doors opened as he reached them, revealing a gutted interior and Pepper, wearing most of the prototype armor Tony had been building for her. She still had her hair twisted up and pinned in place with diamond-studded combs, and her lipstick was smudged.

“Tony? Where’s your armor?” she asked, glancing aside as he dropped his tie.

“No time. I need to be here.” Tony pulled her close for a kiss that was far too quick for what might be a last kiss, and he _hated_ the way her lipstick tasted, but there was no time. No time for anything. “Rhodey’s got the jet warmed up. Go.”

“But —”

“Go!” He pulled her around to switch places — or tried to. She was tall, and since Extremis she’d put on like twenty pounds of solid muscle, and Tony didn’t have much hope in hell of moving her against her will. Not with the added weight of her armor.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You have to. Look, JARVIS will have a constant uplink to the Tower,” Tony said as soothingly as he could manage, which wasn’t very. His rebuilt heart was racing, making him regret switching out the arc reactor for pure bio. Original didn’t always mean better.

Pepper did that little head-tilt thing that said she wanted to argue but knew better. She’d been dealing with Tony’s stubbornness for the last million years, give or take.

Before she could waste more time, he kissed her again, and to hell with the lipstick. “Go,” he said, meaning, _I love you_.

“Be careful,” she said, and from her, it meant the same thing.

Then she was gone, running — well, clanking — across the hangar that was little more than a concrete floor and reinforced girders. Tony looked back, fixing in his memory the way her gold hair picked up the glare from the temporary lighting and the hint of redness at her nape from where the suit chafed.

_Work to do. Lives to save. Governments to topple,_ he reminded himself, and dove for the elevator.

 

~~~

 

The alert had gone off just as Tony had been starting the engine in the Ferrari he couldn’t decide if he wanted to keep. It was Date Night, sacrosanct, not to be interrupted for anything less than a national crisis — not even when Date Night meant a charity dinner instead of champagne by the fireplace. Or, well, air conditioning, since it was summer.

Goddamn Fury and his lousy timing.

Well, not Fury. He was dead, officially, but A) Tony knew better and B) S.H.I.E.L.D. was Fury’s baby. So, damn Fury.

Thank God for Rhodey, though. He’d come by to borrow the other Ferrari in hopes of impressing his own date. And hey, a quinjet was an improvement over a Ferrari, so Rhodey had nothing to complain about. Well, except for standing up his date.

Tony was down to his tuxedo pants, underwear, and socks by the time the elevator opened on his private workshop level. When he’d rebuilt Stark Tower, he’d focused first on the residential levels, then on his workshop. Over the last two months, he’d been working on team quarters, workout facilities, R&D, and the quinjet hangar, so all of that was a half-built mess. His workshop would have been his number one priority, but Pepper had complained that she was sick of living in the penthouse at the Four Seasons.

“JARVIS, talk to me,” Tony said, abandoning the tuxedo components as he headed right for the suit that he wasn’t supposed to have. Pepper got _her_ suit, because Tony wanted the most important person in the world protected, but he’d promised her that anything else he built would be strictly drone technology.

Sometimes, he felt guilty about lying to her. Not today.

“The situation over Washington, D.C., is chaotic at best, sir,” JARVIS said. Holographic displays flickered to life around the workshop, turning to give Tony clear line-of-sight to each one. “The National Guard is failing to put down riots in five sections of the city, though they’re having —”

“Big picture, JARVIS.”

“Three helicarriers have launched from the Triskelion, sir, and have reached an altitude of three thousand feet above D.C. and the surrounding region.”

Tony’s guts went cold. “Insight satellites?”

“Coming online now, sir.”

_Shit_.

No time to fuck with a personal intervention. Tony diverted to his main control console and said, “I want those satellites offline, JARVIS.”

“Establishing uplink.”

All over the country, dishes would be swiveling to take aim at whichever Insight satellite offered best line-of-sight. Tony closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, calling up the memory of every glimpse he’d had of Insight’s predictive programming.

Insight was a brilliant plan, attempting to impose mathematical order on that most unpredictable of systems: the human brain. It took everything from credit card purchases to Foursquare checkins and calculated the chance that any given human would present a threat to both national and international security.

In theory, Tony was all for it. He was sick to death — literally — of being the physical shield between humanity and every fucking bad guy in what was proving to be not just one universe but multiples of them.

In practice, Tony was going to kick the everliving _fuck_ out of whoever had decided to turn it loose on the Eastern Seaboard.

For three solid minutes that felt like three years, Tony’s fingers danced over holographic keys as he barked out commands to his number one assistant. It was a terrible sort of bliss, this synergy between him, JARVIS, and clean, pure code. Distantly, he knew his breathing had slowed and his heart rate had dropped well below normal levels, something that only happened after sex or at times like this, when he could lose himself in pure thought. Even DUM-E knew better than to interrupt.

“Targeting system has acquired multiple locks, sir.”

“Details, JARVIS,” Tony said absently.

“Twelve thousand priority one locks and counting, sir, including your current location.”

Tony’s hands stopped moving for a single heartbeat.

“Huh,” he finally said as he went back to typing. “Good thing Pepper’s gone. Is she —”

“Colonel Rhodes has engaged the retro-reflective panels, sir. They are currently safe.”

“Good old Rhodey,” Tony said, able to breathe once more.

“The White House —”

“Not interested.”

“Very good, sir. Target saturation has been reached. One million targets.”

“Amateurs. Should’ve been 1,048,576,” Tony muttered.

“It does spare forty-eight thousand lives, sir.”

“Always the optimist. _Aha!_ ”

“Insight satellite control link established, sir,” JARVIS said unnecessarily.

“Yup. See that,” Tony answered, diving into the code. There had to be a kill switch or something — some way he could turn this whole mess off. He needed to not just scramble the satellites but to re-holster the weapons on those helicarriers. Otherwise, the idiots would be able to press their big red buttons manually.

He _hated_ biological systems like that.

In theory, he could feed the helicarriers targeting instructions aimed at the Triskelion, but there were a lot of good people working for S.H.I.E.L.D. along with whatever fuckmuppet had decided it was time to take over the world. He didn’t need any more innocent blood on his hands. So that meant he had to lock up the weapons. Confuse them.

And of course _he_ had been the one to suggest the helicarriers have a strictly independent control network. “Makes it safer,” he’d said. “Keeps anyone outside from taking over,” he’d said. He could be a fucking idiot sometimes. Only someone physically at the Triskelion or onboard a helicarrier could control that helicarrier.

“Visual feeds coming online, sir,” JARVIS said, cutting into Tony’s thoughts.

He didn’t stop typing. Even though he knew it wouldn’t be possible, he _needed_ control of those helicarriers. Then again, ‘impossible’ had never stopped him before. “Put it up.”

The top right corner display flickered, and Tony glanced up to watch as the screen divided into quadrants. Three of them showed primary weapons control bays, one for each helicarrier; the fourth quadrant was blank. He flexed his hand, wishing he were there, because one mod was all it would take to fix this whole mess — or at least to save a whole bunch of lives.

“Get me a _useful_ visual,” Tony instructed, looking back at the code he was trying to subvert. Even if he _could_ grab control of the satellites, where the hell would he point them? Outer space? With his luck, that would just summon another alien invasion, and thanks but no thanks for that.

He was neck-deep in frustration when movement caught his eye. He glanced up —

_Cap._

“JARVIS! Confirm identity!”

“Rogers, Steven G., identity confirmed, sir, ninety-nine percent certainty.”

Tony’s laugh was shaky and full of relief. The world wasn’t about to be flushed down the crapper after all. “Get me a line to him. However the — _What the fucking fuck?_ ”

“I...”

Any other day, Tony would have crowed in triumph at the thought of JARVIS going speechless, but not today. Not fucking today, because that... that _thing_ standing between Cap and the helicarrier weapons control bay was big and angry and _not_ Bruce on a bad day but just as bad. Maybe worse. Taller than Cap, standing on two legs, body covered with fur, head of a wolf...

“What big teeth you have, grandma,” Tony muttered with an insane, humorless laugh, because _that_ was a werewolf, and everyone knew werewolves didn’t exist.

“Sir,” JARVIS said uncertainly, “I believe my primary processing systems require rebooting.”

“Nope.” Tony reached out blindly, found a cup, and picked it up. He drank, not caring if it was stale coffee or motor oil. At this point, he’d take motor oil. “Sorry, old buddy. That’s a werewolf.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the last few years — Steve’s last few years, anyway — he’d seen a whole lot of impossible things. The science that had given him his body. Johann Schmidt pulling off his face to become the monstrous Red Skull. Weapons made from the Tesseract. An entire army from outer space sent to retrieve it.

 _Bucky_.

But this... This was too much. Because _this_ was undeniably Bucky, with an arm of gleaming silver metal, but the rest of him — including any part of him that was recognizable as _Steve’s_ Bucky — was gone.

Back in ’35, Bucky had taken Steve and a couple of girls on a double date to see _Werewolf of London_. That werewolf had been stylish and almost human, and when he’d been shot by an officer from Scotland Yard, he’d retained the humanity to thank his killer for the merciful death.

This werewolf was nothing like that one. He wore the tattered remains of Bucky’s fighting armor, complete with guns hanging from stretched and fraying straps. His metal arm was no longer human but matched the other one: longer, thick and powerful, ending in claws that gleamed like deadly knives. Only the light blue eyes were the same, glaring at Steve without a hint of humanity, as he pulled back his lips and snarled, fangs bared.

But Steve had to try. He had to reach Bucky however he could. “People are gonna die, Buck. I can’t let that happen.”

Bucky hunched lower, into a fighting crouch, taking deep breaths. Though he didn’t say a word, his message was clear.

 _Bucky._ Steve couldn’t force the name through his throat. Not when Bucky didn’t recognize him.. What came out was, “Please don’t make me do this.”

Could Bucky even understand him? Was there _anything_ left of him under that fur?

When they’d fought before, Bucky had been human. There had been a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. But now, that glimmer was gone, leaving only a monster.

Maybe it was like in that movie. Maybe death would be a mercy, compared to living like this.

Bleeding inside, Steve tried to summon up the strength to end his closest friend’s life, but it wasn’t there. All his life, even when he’d been trapped inside a body as fragile as broken glass, he’d had the strength to do what was right. To do what needed to be done. But strength had its limits, and Steve had reached his. There was nothing left.

Nothing except the resignation that if he was going to die, at least he’d die with his best friend.

Steve threw his shield, hoping to drive Bucky out of the way, but Bucky deflected it back with a swipe of his metal arm. When Steve charged at him, his hand slapped into the vibranium shield hard enough to nearly rock it out of Steve’s grip. Steve gripped the handhold tighter and kept pushing, driving Bucky back, fighting defensively against Bucky’s all-out offense, though it was a losing strategy, and he knew it. Between one twist and the next, Bucky fired two huge guns — guns Steve hadn’t even seen him draw.

He was _fast_ , easily faster than Steve. Had he been that fast before, after Zola’s experiments on him in the weapons lab outside Kitzbühel, or was this new? It had to be because he was a werewolf.

The vibranium shield absorbed the force of the bullets. Instead of ricocheting, they fell at Steve’s feet, clattering through the grate to land on the plexiglas windows below. Steve kept the shield up, protecting his head, and Bucky ducked low. Steve twisted a heartbeat too late. A bullet ripped through his uniform, high up on his ribs, grazing the skin.

Grunting in pain and surprise, Steve slammed the shield forward with all his strength. Bucky went flying backwards, losing his grip on both guns. He came up snarling, a long fighting knife in his furry hand, metal claws spread wide. Steve shook his head — _No!_ — but _Bucky_ was gone, if he’d ever been there at all.

The Winter Soldier came at Steve with a flurry of blows that rocked Steve back on his heels. Not even half of them landed on his body, but every one sapped his strength and left bone-deep bruises. The Winter Soldier’s claws sparked on the shield, tearing gouges in the paint.

Steve got in a lucky kick that pushed the Winter Soldier back, but instead of finishing the job, he opened the access panel and typed in 1452 — the control code for the weapons array — and then hit Open. As the protective panels recessed with a hiss, he heard the Winter Soldier’s snarl and got his shield up just in time. Sparks flew as the metal arm scraped over the shield with such force that Steve staggered. He spun away, buying himself enough room to leap and kick under the Winter Soldier’s muzzle.

Spitting blood, the werewolf crashed back with a yelp of pain. Steve spun, counted control circuit blades, and ripped one from the housing. He grabbed for his belt pouch where he carried the blade with new targeting instructions —

The Winter Soldier came at him, and he got the shield up in time to block five claws that would’ve gutted him. Recklessly, he pushed the werewolf back from the targeting array. Agent Hill had warned him that damaging the control panel would leave the last commands in system memory, and thousands of people would die. He had to _replace_ those commands, and that meant the system had to stay intact. So he rushed at the Winter Soldier, taking the offensive, and they staggered from one side of the catwalk to the other, until the werewolf let out a deafening howl and leaped at Steve.

They plummeted down onto the downward curve of a support panel, and the circuit blade went flying from Steve’s grasp. It flew to the very edge — behind the Winter Soldier, who stopped his own fall by digging claws into the panel, tearing gouges in the metal.

Steve couldn’t risk the werewolf spotting it. One step would shatter the circuit blade. He rushed at the werewolf, throwing punches and lashing out with his shield, trying to distract the Winter Soldier long enough for Steve to send him safely down onto the plexiglas and out of the fight.

But it was Steve who fell, sliding all the way to the very edge. He broke his fall, snatched at the control blade, and got to his feet in time for the Winter Soldier to slam a clawed foot up under his chin. Thank God his claws weren’t pointed up, or he would’ve torn out Steve’s throat. The control blade and shield both went spinning out of Steve’s grasp, and he followed all the way down to the plexiglas weather shield below. He hit square on his back, gasped for breath, and twisted up to his feet. Desperately, he ran for the control blade.

The Winter Soldier dropped down with a snarl that was Steve’s only warning. He spun around in time to see the shield flying at him, and he threw up an arm but it was too late. The shield hit him squarely in the back, high up on his left shoulder, and he hit the plexiglas again. A glimmer of metal gave him just enough warning to grab hold of the shield in his numb left arm and raise it.

Five bullets hit, and Steve _knew_ what the Winter Soldier was doing. It was a delaying action. Teeth clenched, Steve took a chance and uncoiled from his crouch, using his momentum to throw the shield again. The Winter Soldier dropped the gun and tried to deflect, but the shield sent him staggering back.

He recovered and rushed at Steve with another knife in his clawed right hand, and this time, though Steve caught the Winter Soldier’s wrist, the knife hit. Steve screamed as he felt it shear through flesh and muscle, scraping the bottom of his right collarbone, sinking three inches into him before he could stop it.

Remembering how sensitive dogs’ noses were, he head-butted the Winter Soldier’s muzzle, and the Winter Soldier yelped and jerked his head back, blood streaming from his nose. Enraged, he shoved Steve into a curved support wall and pawed at his own face.

Steve hit the wall, eyes scanning for the circuit blade. There!

He wrenched the knife out of his shoulder and dove for the circuit blade, but the Winter Soldier’s paw slapped down on it first. Praying it wouldn’t shatter under those claws, Steve tackled the Winter Soldier, flinging him over, and caught hold of him under his jaw.

Grunting with the effort, Steve lifted the werewolf, twisted, and nearly dislocated every joint in his body as he slammed the werewolf face-down onto the plexiglas. He kept hold of the werewolf’s right wrist and pulled up and back, bracing one foot against the werewolf’s jaw.

“Drop it!” he screamed, knowing that if he had to he could dislocate the Winter Soldier’s shoulder, but he didn’t want to. This was _Bucky_. But the Winter Soldier snarled and swiped back with his metal claws, and Steve wrenched up while stomping down, and he heard the sharp _crack_ of the joint as it gave way.

Bucky’s howl of pain tore through Steve. The sound was canine and terrifying, but in Steve’s head it echoed Bucky’s scream as he fell from Zola’s train. He wanted to let go — this was his _closest friend_ — but somehow, the werewolf still held onto the control blade, and Steve knew that he wouldn’t surrender, no matter how badly he suffered.

 _Time to end this,_ Steve thought. He released the werewolf’s ruined arm, dropped onto his back, and twisted. As the Winter Soldier rolled with him, Steve got both arms under his jaw and pulled, locking his legs around the werewolf’s metal left arm and torso to neutralize those deadly claws. He pulled with all his strength until the werewolf’s kicks grew feeble.

With a faint clatter, the circuit blade fell from the Winter Soldier’s limp right hand.

Ignoring the pain of his wounds, Steve shoved Bucky aside. He wanted to check for a pulse, but he didn’t dare distract himself with worry. Bucky was one man, and Steve had the lives of thousands in his hand.

“One minute!” Agent Hill warned through his earpiece.

He snatched up the circuit blade and rushed for the support beams. He leaped up, caught himself, and bit back a scream from the fiery pain that ripped through his torn shoulder. Gasping for breath, he pulled himself up onto the beam. Another jump — another grunt — and he made it onto the catwalk —

Only to drop as a bullet tore into his thigh.

He twisted and saw Bucky standing, right arm cradled to his chest, left arm holding a gun.

_How the hell was he still on his feet?_

Steve forced himself to run for the central column. He leaped up, caught hold of a spar, and started climbing as another gunshot rang out. The bullet hit right next to his fingers, and he jerked back instinctively. He nearly fell, and he swung from his left hand for a moment. A kick gave him the momentum to grab hold of a higher handhold, and a second later, he pulled himself back up onto the catwalk.

_“Thirty seconds, Cap!”_

Agent Hill’s normally calm, steady voice was high and sharp with panic. Steve could see it now — thousands of people falling dead in front of their friends and loved ones, ripped apart because of a computer program that thought they _might_ be a danger one day.

He would die before he let that happen.

He staggered to the control console. His body wasn’t healing as quickly as it should have, but his resources had been taxed by the fight. “Stand by!” he told Hill as he took hold of the circuit blade with his left hand. He reached out to slot it into the empty spot.

A bullet ripped into his body, tearing straight through from his back to his gut, just below his ribs. The blade nearly fell from his nerveless fingers. He staggered back, and his right leg gave out. He dropped to the catwalk, gasping from far too much pain, and he looked down to see blood spreading across the red and white stripes on his abdomen.

His body wasn’t healing. He was going into shock.

He was going to fail.

_No._

Teeth clenched, he twisted up onto his left knee. He forced himself to stand, even though he could feel the bullet in his thigh shifting and tearing through his flesh. He braced on one elbow, then the other, and slammed his numb left fist down at the control board, praying the blade would slot on the first try.

It did.

All around him, he felt the weapons systems shudder and whirr as they returned to their neutral position. “Charlie lock,” he gasped out over his comms as he slumped back down.

“Okay, Cap. Get out of there,” Hill ordered.

There was no hope. He’d never make it ten feet, much less off the helicarrier.

“Fire now,” he said, knowing for certain that the life of one man never outweighed that of many, even if that life was his own. Hell, even someone like Tony Stark knew that. His mind’s eye was filled with the image of Iron Man falling from the hole ripped in the universe at the end of the battle of New York. What excuse did Steve have to act any different?

“But Steve —” Hill’s voice broke.

 _“Do it!”_ he ordered. “Do it now!”

And the world erupted in thunder.

The helicarrier rocked, flinging Steve into the railing. He grunted at the impact and tried to grab hold as the world tilted on its side. The scream of metal gave way to a werewolf’s agonized howl, and the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stood on end as he remembered Bucky.

Until that scream, Steve had been ready to die a good death. Now, he threw himself at the other railing and looked down to see the Winter Soldier pinned under the curved fallen support beam. Six inches higher, and it would’ve beheaded him. As it was, he had no leverage to escape. All the strength in the world wouldn’t save him.

But Steve wouldn’t let him die. Not again.

No matter what they’d turned him into, the man inside that wolfish body had been Steve’s whole world — had saved Steve’s life countless times. Had given him reason to live for so much of his life. There was no way Steve could give up on his best friend, no matter what he looked like.

Bucky’s eyes rolled, and he snapped his jaws, blindly vicious, too panicked to think rationally. His howls were full of not just pain but terror. His ears were flat, and when he spotted Steve, he cringed.

Steve threw himself down off the catwalk, ignoring the agony, and half-crawled, half-staggered to get his shield. Maddened with pain and fear, the werewolf would bite off Steve’s arm, never realizing Steve only wanted to help.

Steve stopped a foot away from Bucky’s thrashing, clawed feet. He wrapped his arms around the beam, braced his knees, and lifted, ignoring the way blood gushed from his wounds. Bucky’s howl turned into a whimper, and he pulled himself free, claws digging into the plexiglas.

As Bucky fought up to a crouch, tail hanging low, Steve said, “You know me.”

Bucky turned, lips drawn back from his long fangs in a snarl. “No, I don’t!” he growled, snapping the words out so thickly that Steve could barely understand them.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded, getting to his feet. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

With an enraged roar, Bucky lashed out, metal claws swiping through the air. Steve got his shield up just in time, but he was too weak to stay on his feet. He spun and slammed into the plexiglas as Bucky staggered with his own momentum. They were both three-quarters dead on their feet, and _still_ the Winter Soldier wouldn’t surrender.

Panting, Steve pushed up to his knees again. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said as he found the strength to stand.

_“Shut up!”_

The Winter Soldier threw himself at Steve, sending him staggering back, but now Bucky was fighting himself. Instead of pouncing on Steve’s vulnerability, Bucky slammed his metal fist into the plexiglas, howling in rage.

There was only one thing to do.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Steve gasped out, and he let his shield fall through a shattered panel. “You’re my friend.”

For a few seconds, the Winter Soldier stared at him, claws twitching. Then, with one last howl, he charged at Steve, tackling him onto his back.

“You’re my mission,” the Winter Soldier ground out, and clenched his clawed metal hand into a fist that he drove into Steve’s face again and again, howling in pain the whole time. It was a human attack — no claws, no fangs — and despite the agony of his shattered jaw and fractured cheekbone, Steve felt hope.

And when the Winter Soldier pulled back his fist, panting, Steve managed to say, “Then finish it. ’Cause I’m with you, ’til the end of the line.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes went wide, and Bucky shifted, fur disappearing into bloody, bruised skin. Bucky’s face stared down at Steve in horror —

And the plexiglas gave way beneath Steve’s weight. He felt himself fall, tumbling over and over in the air, surrounded by smoke and flames, and breathed a sigh of relief. Even if he couldn’t save Bucky or himself, at least he was able to see his friend’s real, human face one last time before he died. It _had_ to mean his Bucky was still somewhere inside. He’d hold onto that as long as he had a glimmer of life in him.


	3. Chapter 3

CNN was having a field day. Somehow, they’d sniped exclusive footage right out from under the other major networks, splashing their logo everywhere before allowing anyone to use their shots. They’d even dug up Wolf Blitzer — _Wasn’t he dead?_ — to do the voiceover.

There was a horrifying thought. If werewolves were real, what the hell else could be?

 _Mythological gods from outer space,_ Tony thought dryly. _This_ was why drinking was a valid life decision.

“Enough with the ratings boost, JARVIS. Kill CNN.”

“I’ll take that figuratively, sir, and not literally.”

“Killjoy,” he muttered, turning his attention to the bright red threats his HUD displayed. The Air Force had pointlessly scrambled every fighter jet on the planet, and the last thing Tony needed was to get shot down by his own missiles. _Again_. “Why didn’t I put cloaking on the suit?”

“Because retro-reflective panels require too much power, sir. And I believe your exact words were ‘Even I’m not that fucking gaudy unless I’m _really_ drunk.’”

“Rhetorical. Do you have to listen to everything I say?”

“That _is_ a core part of my programming, sir.”

Tony huffed and went low, judging it safer to fly at a thousand feet. Fighter pilots got all kinds of twitchy at that altitude, and they’d hopefully be hesitant to fire missiles that could take off the roof of a hospital or day care center or Capitol Hill. Hopefully.

The smoke was thick over the river where the three helicarriers had killed one another. Tony gritted his teeth and refused to entertain the notion that Cap was dead. He’d survived seventy years in the ice. What could a crashing helicarrier do to him?

 _Too much,_ a little voice whispered in the back of his head.

“JARVIS, you figure out which helicarrier Captain Rogers was on and where it went down?”

“I have analyzed all available footage, sir. I believe I’ve extrapolated a likely site.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat. If Cap was alive, they’d have a figurehead to handle the PR nuclear winter that was going to happen when the dust settled. Of all the Avengers, Natasha was right in the middle of this shitstorm, Clint was too modest, Banner turned into a giant green monster, Thor looked like a _Playgirl_ centerfold from a renaissance festival, and Tony was... well, himself.

Meaning... if Cap was really alive, Tony wouldn’t have to pretend to clean up his own image to do all the hard work around here. He could sit in the background and feed money to the PR department, which was one thing he was very, very good at doing.

“Well? Send the coordinates.”

A beautiful green dot blossomed on his HUD, a beacon that held the promise of a future that was less insane than the one S.H.I.E.L.D. had royally fucked up. _Don’t let me down, Cap,_ Tony thought, boosting his speed as he reached the water and turned, heading downriver. He dropped and skimmed the surface close enough that spray obscured his path; his optics compensated automatically, picking out heat sources...

A sun-bright bloom resolved itself into not one but two shapes on the bank. “Two heat signatures —”

“Scanning now, sir,” JARVIS interrupted. “Out-of-norm readings for both, sir. Seventy-one percent chance that one of them is Captain Rogers.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. _That_ was ominous. Who was the other? Dad had been all too clear that his super soldier program had one graduate. Not two.

 _Shit_.

“Right. JARVIS, I need an ID, soon as you can,” Tony ordered as he banked and slowed, diving for the ground before realizing what the other heat signature might be.

 _Oh, fucking hell,_ he thought, aborting his landing to hover thirty feet over the riverbank, just in case. Because somehow, in his mad flight down the East Coast and his desperate worry over Cap, he’d managed to forget one critical detail.

The goddamned werewolf.

 

~~~

 

Steve had already come back from the dead once. He hadn’t been prepared to do it again. But this was what consciousness felt like, and the all-consuming pain he felt meant his consciousness was confined to a physical body, though he was pretty sure every last cell of that body was hurting right now. Healing, thank God, but slowly.

Once again, coming back from the dead was a wet process, though this time not as cold as melting ice. The part that was odd was the fact that, though he was clearly not in a lab — muddy earth beneath his hands, blue sky marred by smoke in his line of sight — he could still hear Tony’s voice. Granted, what Tony was saying now made even less sense than when he went into science-speak...

“Good boy,” came over the loudspeaker of the Iron Man suit. “Who’s a good boy? Sit! Stay! Go... fetch something!”

_What the hell?_

If Tony was saying that shit to him, Steve was going to give him a serious talking to. Steve blinked a few times to get the water blurring his vision off his lashes, then made a move to sit up. It didn’t work. That shot to his gut was still a problem, so he lay where he was, trying not to total up the number of wounds he’d received in that fight. The one with — was he remembering correctly? — the werewolf.

_Bucky._

Drawing a pained breath, Steve tried to yell, “Stark! Where’s —”

Yeah, that was definitely a werewolf. Or at least a wolf. Big, charcoal gray, _really_ long fangs. And one leg was covered with muddy, filthy metal plates that extended all the way onto its chest.

“Morning, Cap. Or, well, afternoon,” Tony said, broadcasting from overhead as he flew closer. He was maybe fifteen feet up, giving Steve a great view of the blindingly bright repulsors on his boots, right up until the wolf interposed itself between them — meaning it was standing _over_ Steve, snarling so loudly, Steve felt it vibrate in his chest.

 _Jesus._ This thing could turn into three different forms? No, this was no _thing._ Steve was certain he’d seen the monster shift into Bucky’s human form, face a mask of pain, right before he’d fallen and lost consciousness. This was a fully animal creature. And yet...

“Bucky. Hey, Buck.” Steve put his hands up by his chest in surrender, since there was a good foot of space between his body and the wolf’s. “It’s okay.”

“Uh, say again, Cap?” Tony answered over the wolf’s growling.

“Bucky. This is my Buck — my friend. My _best_ friend. They turned him into the Winter Soldier. And also, this.” The heat off Bucky’s animal body was intense, the smell of earth and musty fur and musk strong in Steve’s nose, but for all the power in him, this close to Steve, he didn’t feel like a threat. At least, not to Steve.

“ _This_ ,” Tony said, “has a power source off the charts in that leg. Arm. Whatever. And I wouldn’t give you good odds on disabling it. If that translates into bite strength, he could take off _your_ arm.”

“Good to know,” Steve muttered under his breath. The wolf — Bucky — was still standing over him, his teeth bared at Tony, his legs tensing as if to spring, and Steve started to panic. This could end badly, and Steve could easily be collateral damage. “Tony. Go... somewhere else. Land. It’ll draw him off so I can get up, at least.”

“Right. I’ve got a target lock on him. Just say the word.” With a bright flare that made Steve squint, Tony flew off. Still snarling, Bucky lunged, then stopped with a whimper a couple of feet away.

He wasn’t putting weight on his right foreleg, and the shock Steve felt at the memory of dislocating that arm was enough to make him sit up. Guilt. Worry. After those stabs in the chest, the spikes of pain in his gut and shoulder and leg barely registered as he got to his knees and held out a hand. “Hey, Buck. I’m sorry, pal. Come here.”

Bucky’s ears swiveled back, but his head was still down, fur bristled up in a ridge from shoulders to the tail tucked down between his legs. He turned just slightly, and Steve suspected he wasn’t looking away from the gleaming red and gold figure of Iron Man standing some distance away.

Steve crawled a little closer. “He’s not a threat. He’s my friend.” He wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to at that moment, but he knew the words were true regardless. “Come here, Buck. Come on, buddy.” He kept himself from whistling, but just barely. He’d grown up walking the neighbor’s dog for pocket change, and he’d taught it to respond to his whistle. It was second nature for Steve to want to use it now, but this was _Bucky._

The wolf hunched low and turned, sidling towards Steve with an awkward, lurching gait. His metal paw left sharp, clear imprints in the mud. Every time he put weight on his right foreleg, he stumbled and whimpered quietly. And he kept glancing warily back at Iron Man, even when he reached Steve’s side.

Steve tried to raise his voice loud enough without startling Bucky. “Tony, go away. You’re not helping. Go find Maria and make sure she got out okay. Nat and Nick should be together, and... Shit. Sam. Find Sam. I got this.”

“Okay, first off, Sam who? Second, unless I’m hallucinating, which is a distinct possibility, _that_ is a... uh... Well, a _thing_ that doesn’t exist outside of B-movies and teen dramas on MTV.”

“Yeah, figured that one out. It’s fine. I said I _got_ it. Sam’s pararescue and has saved my life five times this week, so make damned sure he’s okay. Now go.” Steve looked directly into the Iron Man mask and nodded, jaw clenched.

“Fine, but if he bites you and you get furry, you’re staying off the damn furniture,” Tony threatened. He flattened his hands and launched into the air, making Bucky growl.

_Shit._

Steve had forgotten about that part. Well, nothing for it now. He was all in. And honestly, he’d been trusting Bucky with his life for so long, he wasn’t sure he could stop long enough to be worried about getting turned into a werewolf. And right now, Bucky needed his help.

He reached his hand out slowly for wolf-Bucky to sniff, murmuring comforting words to ease his tension. “Okay... It’s okay, Buck. It’s me. You know me. I swear. Lemme look at your arm, okay? All right?”

Slowly, he coaxed Bucky back into arm’s reach. Bucky ducked even lower until he was almost crawling. He settled down and pressed his nose against Steve’s palm before resting his muzzle in the mud, ears laid flat.

_Right._

He was scared. Of course he was. He was a wild thing, made feral and dangerous — made into a weapon. A damned _wolf_. This was not _his_ Bucky. It was Bucky Barnes, certainly, somewhere in there, but he didn’t trust Steve as his friend. Not yet. And Steve would be a fool to trust him until they’d come to some kind of understanding.

But here he was, in pain. And though he probably wasn’t running away more because he wasn’t able to than anything else, at least he was here with Steve right now. And there was a way to make things better.

“Hey. I don’t know canine anatomy, pal. If I’m gonna look at your arm... can I do it as you? As Bucky? Does it work like that?”

Wolf-Bucky just whined in response, seeming to burrow even lower into the muck as his eyes closed. Steve knew this was more than just pain — this was definitely fear. Worse, it was _obedient_ fear, because he wasn’t running away or growling to try and hold Steve at bay.

“Okay. Okay. Whatever you need, buddy. Let’s just sit here for a bit.” Steve sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. He watched Bucky for a little while, but then as the tension eased from him, he started to feel his own injuries. He felt around with his fingers to assess the damage to his face and wondered if he should dig out the bullet from his leg so the wound would heal faster.

After a few minutes, Steve looked back over at his wolf friend, and he noticed Bucky’s hackles were down, and his ears had perked up. At least he was calmer. That could only make things easier.

“So what now, Buck? Do you want me to look at your leg? I’m sorry about... doing that.”

Bucky opened his eyes and looked up at Steve. It was damned unnatural, seeing human intelligence — seeing _blue_ eyes — in a wolf. Then Bucky pushed up with his front legs, whimpering as he did, until he was sitting up. Chest heaving, he leaned heavily on his metal leg, staring at Steve the whole time.

“All right.” Slowly, so very slowly, Steve reached out toward Bucky’s right foreleg, never breaking eye contact. Bucky whimpered and flinched but didn’t pull away. He didn’t even growl or snarl as Steve felt from his paw to his spine, searching for breaks.

But while the war had made Steve something of an expert at dressing field injuries, he wasn’t a veterinarian. “Bucky, I’m sorry. I can’t help like this. If you were human...” He shrugged his shoulders apologetically, his eyebrows raised.

The wolf dragged in a breath, head lowered. Then, with a full body shudder that made Bucky whimper and Steve cringe, the wolf’s fur receded into bare, scarred skin. Even the metal arm changed, warping and shimmering as the surface reflected what little sunlight penetrated the thick smoke still blanketing the skies.

And there was Steve’s Bucky, kneeling naked in the dirt. His right shoulder was hanging down too far and at a bad angle, and the pain in his eyes made Steve stop staring at the face he’d spent years mourning and look to the injury.

“This is gonna hurt. Please don’t kill me,” Steve said.

Bucky just stared at him, and anyone else would have thought him expressionless, but Steve knew him too well. He saw something in Bucky’s eyes he’d seen so few times before. In Zola’s lab. As Bucky fell from the train.

 _Fear_.

He didn’t flinch when Steve took hold of his arm. He didn’t even wince in anticipation. He was resigned to the oncoming pain in a way that made Steve catch his breath, then hold it, as he felt around the socket to make sure he could reset the shoulder. “I’m sorry, pal.” He took a deep breath, then shoved the arm back into place.

It had to hurt. Hell, Steve _knew_ it had to have hurt because he’d set his own arm before, but Bucky’s only reaction was a low, pained grunt. He barely blinked, and he never looked aside. And when the shoulder was set, Bucky stayed exactly where he was, not pulling away from the threat of even more pain.

Something in Steve cracked at seeing his friend so broken — so without agency or self-preservation. It was worse than seeing him as a killing machine, to see him as a willing sacrifice. It made his eyes well up and his throat feel thick. “I’m so sorry.”

Bucky frowned. “I failed.”

Steve looked into Bucky’s face, wondering how deeply he believed in HYDRA and his mission. This could very well be suicide. “No, Buck...”

“I wanted to fail.” Bucky looked down guiltily.

_Oh, God._

_There he is. My Bucky._

“Thank Christ.” Without thinking, Steve took hold of Bucky’s metal shoulder and pulled him close. Bucky went tense, but again he didn’t pull away. The reaction made Steve certain if he looked at Bucky’s face right then, it would have looked more stunned than anything. He couldn’t bring himself to check. He pulled himself together and let Bucky go before saying, “You okay?”

Still avoiding Steve’s eyes, Bucky said, “I’m supposed to report in.”

Breathing a soft sigh of relief at the phrase ‘ _supposed to’_ , Steve said, “If my team succeeded, there’s no one to report _to,_ Buck.”

Bucky let out a shaky sigh of his own, eyes closing. “What —” He took another breath, then swallowed. “What happens now?”

“No idea.” Steve smiled. “I guess we go home.”

Bucky’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? No! Doesn’t — doesn’t HYDRA have a safehouse for you or something?”

“Bucky, HYDRA is the opposite of safe.” Steve had no idea why Bucky would think HYDRA wanted to keep _him_ safe. He’d been their biggest enemy since... well, since he’d rescued Bucky from their clutches back in ’43. “They’ve never been safe. I’ve been trying to dismantle them — _we_ were trying —” Steve let out a deep breath. If Bucky didn’t remember any of their army days together or any of the Howling Commandos’ missions, this was a dead end.

“You were — But you _are_ HYDRA,” Bucky said, absolute certainty in his voice. He lifted his metal hand and prodded cautiously at the shoulder Steve had set.

_Shit._

He wasn’t wrong, and that was the kicker. As in, hearing it kicked Steve in the solar plexus and made him swallow hard. It wasn’t an easy pill. “Well, I tried really hard not to be, but they’re slippery. I thought I wasn’t. I did everything I could to end HYDRA, in fact. Didn’t work. And for that, I’m so sorry.”

“You were undercover?” Bucky lifted his right hand a couple of inches, then winced. Instead, he touched Steve’s chin with his cold metal hand, lifting his face a little. “Shit. They didn’t tell me. You were my target.”

Confusion furrowed Steve’s brow. “No, I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. It’s just that HYDRA had its claws so deep —”

“Shield?”

Steve sighed. He hated spelling the name out. “Strategic Homeland — It’s what the SSR became. You remember that? When we worked with Stark and Agent Carter? HYDRA infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. but none of us knew about it.”

Bucky shook his head. “I must’ve hit you too hard or something. You’re all confused. Do you have a safehouse? One that’s _not_ SSR?”

If only Steve were confused. Part of him was wishing these last few weeks had all been some horrible nightmare. Especially the part where his best friend was a werewolf assassin. He shook his head. “I wish, Buck. Though, actually...”

Tony. He’d shown up out of the blue just at the tail end of the operation — like the cavalry — but that at least meant he was paying attention to something. Probably the technology. And what good was his tower if not for hiding fugitives?

“My friend, in the red and gold suit. He might be able to put us up. But my commlink was in my helmet.”

“Commlink.” Bucky’s eyes went wide, and he clenched his jaw as he lifted his right hand. His skin turned ashen, and as he flexed his fingers, they elongated, nails going shadowy black as fine grey fur spread from fingers to wrist, thinning out halfway up his forearm.

“Bucky...” Steve stared, caught between horror and fascination at the partial shift. This was nothing like the movies — not like the old werewolf black-and-white films and not even like the movies and TV shows today. The last werewolf he’d seen on TV had been a flat-faced teenager who looked in need of a good shave.

Ignoring Steve, Bucky dug his claws into the metal plates over where his left triceps would be, popping open a catch that revealed a faint blue glow shining on the mechanisms and circuitry that made up his arm. A loud _click_ and a spark, and he pulled out something — a small black microchip, Steve thought, though he barely caught a glimpse before Bucky crushed it between his claws.

“Tracking device,” he explained, throwing the pieces of the chip into the river. A slap of his clawed hand sealed the plate back against his arm. Then he held up one clawed finger and asked, “You have one you need cut out?”

“God, I hope not.” Steve hadn’t once thought about what could have been done to him before he’d regained consciousness from the ice. Hell, he’d had confirmation from Coulson that he had been under surveillance. Who was to say he hadn’t undergone surgery as well? He shook his head to banish the thought — at least until he could get Tony to check him over. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. Let me get your shield. Or did you get it already? I remember you dropping it.”

The memory of giving up — of being ready to let Bucky kill him if need be — sliced through Steve. He’d _dropped_ his shield. Steve wasn’t sure he wanted it back, given what it now stood for, but it was clear Bucky wanted him armed, and that, he had to admit, was probably a good idea. He nodded to Bucky and said, “Thanks.”

Unconcerned with his nudity, Bucky got to his feet, experimentally rolling his right shoulder. Then he turned and headed down the muddy bank, splashing into the filthy water without hesitation.

Nothing about his friend seemed familiar to Steve, except his loyalty. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, his facial expressions... Nothing was the same, except the color of his eyes and how it felt like the two of them only really understood the world when they were together. In fact, just having Bucky leave, now that Steve had him back, felt strange. Off. And it made him focus more fully on the pain of his injuries.

Injuries that Bucky had caused. That was new. They’d rough-housed growing up and spent time in casualty wards together getting treated for battle wounds, but they’d never _harmed_ each other. Not that Steve could hold a grudge when Bucky hadn’t been in his right mind — in his human body, even. Steve couldn’t see those two forms, the werewolf and the human, as even the same entity right then. So he lay back down to catch his breath, trying to use as few muscles as possible as he waited for Bucky. It was going to take a bit of help to get up and away from the river anyway.

He had no idea how long it was until Bucky returned, carrying the shield in his metal hand. The water had washed away the mud, revealing bruises and scars over his whole body. The flesh around his metal shoulder was the worst, with ruddy marks like a spider’s web stretched over his skin.

“I need to go dog for this,” Bucky said as he handed the shield to Steve. “Take off your belt. That’ll work for a leash.”

“For what?” Steve shook the fuzziness out of his head and tried to sit back up, taking his time to assess his bodily state as he did. “My belt’s got stuff on it...”

Bucky looked down at himself and shook his head. “Having an off-leash dog is gonna draw a lot less attention than no pants. Just make it into a collar or something, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Here, hang on. Wear my shield harness. At least you’ll look like you _could_ be tame with that.” Pain seared through Steve’s shoulder, taking his breath, as he tried to shrug off the straps. “Dammit. Can you...?” He gestured to the harness.

Bucky frowned and crouched down so he could reach for the strap with his metal hand. “Do you want to make it into a muzzle or something? They always —” He stopped, glancing away as the color drained from his face.

_Oh, God._

It wasn’t just a mask he’d been wearing in that first fight. And when he was in wolf form, who knew what HYDRA had done to contain him? Steve’s words caught in his throat for a second, and he reached out to touch Bucky’s arm before he could speak. “No. Never again. Ever. Just wear it like I do, and it’ll look like a dog harness when you shift. Then people will know you’re someone’s —” He cut off, not wanting to imply that he owned Bucky. Not after whatever HYDRA had done to him. “That you’re tame.”

“It’s safer if I can’t bite anyone...?” Bucky said, his voice rising as if confused. Questioning. He stared expectantly at Steve, looking lost.

_Shit._

Bucky wasn’t wrong, especially if bites worked like they did in the movies. But the way he’d spoken about biting, Steve was willing to bet he’d been _told_ that — not that it was necessarily true. Granted, Steve had no idea if Bucky still needed to believe what he’d been told to function. “Would it make _you_ feel safer, Buck?”

Bucky looked away, taking deep, rapid breaths. “I’m not... I’m supposed to keep my handlers safe. I can’t always — Sometimes, I get confused.”

 _'Handlers’_ made Steve feel like a chunk of ice had been dropped down his spine. He took a moment to rest his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder —  a heavy, solid weight — and calmed his own breathing. Then he found a glimmer of a grin to give Bucky as he responded, “Are you worried you’ll bite me, pal?”

“They — They said —” Bucky darted a quick glance at Steve’s face, then closed his eyes. “Yeah. I was supposed to.”

“Jesus.” Steve involuntarily moved his hand to cup the side of Bucky’s neck, thumb pressed against his jaw. “No. You won’t. I _know_ you won’t. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky dragged in a breath. “You’re my mission. My target. If I can’t kill you, I’m supposed to bite you so you turn on them and they put you down.” He opened his eyes, giving Steve a pleading look. “What if I — I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve squeezed Bucky’s nape and said, “You won’t. You’ve gone off mission this far, and there’s no one to tell you to get back in line, so I’m willing to risk it. But we have to go hook up with my team.” He grunted as he reached his left arm back to unhook the clasps of the harness, then slid it off his wounded shoulder. “Here.”

Bucky sorted out the straps and pulled them over his shoulders. Then he helped Steve to stand and turned so Steve could clasp them in place. Up close, the scars were even more pronounced, but Steve couldn’t figure out why. If Bucky had the same serum as Steve, he should’ve healed too quickly to scar.

Before Steve could ask, Bucky shifted, body hunching over as he dropped to all fours, fur rising up from his skin. Lips pulled back from his elongated muzzle, baring fangs that no one would ever mistake for a common canine’s, but the whimper that he let out was heartbreaking. He leaned heavily on his metal leg and pulled his right front paw up out of the mud.

Steve was sure he’d never get used to that shift. The transformation was utter and complete in a matter of moments, and then there was nothing left of the human but the color of Bucky’s eyes. Something Steve would have been able to recognize anywhere, even though he hadn’t seen it outside of his dreams for years.

“Let’s get you safe, so you can rest your leg. Arm.” Steve held out his hand for Bucky to sniff and realized that in wolf form, he was almost waist-height. There was no way people would believe he was Steve’s dog.

But for all of Bucky’s fears of biting Steve, all he did was nudge Steve’s hand with another quiet, sad whimper. He inched closer and forward, putting Steve’s hand over his back, then nudged again as if inviting Steve to lean on him.

It was a sweet gesture, but with his own shoulder out of commission, he couldn’t really make use of it. Even worse, he had to favor his left side, but that would put his weight on Bucky’s right foreleg. He settled for nestling his fingers in the fur at the back of Bucky’s neck. The contact was surprisingly comforting, and it kept the weight of his arm off his wounded shoulder. He grabbed his shield by the handle and spoke, his voice low and gentle, as he started forward. “All right, Buck. I’m right here. We’ll stick close together.”

It was slow going for both of them, though the bullet still lodged in Steve’s thigh wasn’t as painful as he’d expected. His gut still hurt, and the stab in his shoulder definitely had glanced off of bone, but he could make it for a while. Even if it took the rest of the night, he’d get Bucky to safety, and then they could figure out how to... well, live. As an ex-agent and a recovering assassin werewolf in a post-S.H.I.E.L.D. world.

_One step at a time, Rogers._

The important part was right here next to him, and that was all he needed — all he’d been lacking. As long as he had Bucky, he would be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

“Okay, next time Pepper yells at me for breaking Manhattan, I’m using _this_ as a counter-argument,” Tony said, finishing his most recent sweep of post-apocalyptic D.C.

“Sir, if I might point out the utter lack of wisdom in that strategy...” JARVIS said in a long-suffering tone that Tony was positive he’d developed on his own, because Tony hadn’t programmed it into him.

“Hey. I have never crashed three — count ’em, _three_ — helicarriers anywhere, much less on the nation’s capitol.”

“And we’re all so very proud of your self-restraint.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“At the moment, sir, Colonel Rhodes’. I’ve arranged for safe passage into British airspace and for him and Miss Potts to land at Lakenheath Air Base in England. It seemed well away from the chaos.”

“Good man, JARVIS,” Tony approved, breathing a sigh of relief at knowing Pepper was thousands of miles away from both this disaster and, well, from him, because she was deadly in that suit. Or out of it, for that matter. “Any progress on finding Steve’s friend Sam?”

“Given such specific search parameters —”

“Yeah, I know.” Tony sighed and started on another high sweep, hoping that his brain could get a handle on things. He was damned good in an emergency, but this was a little too overwhelming, because S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA and _what the everliving fuck was Fury thinking_?

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted about ten minutes later, right as Tony was debating locking the suit’s watertight seals so he could dive into the river and scavenge some tech.

“Talk to me.”

“Miss Romanoff is phoning the New York headquarters. Shall I —”

“Fuck, yes. Put her through. And get me a lock on her position.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said, right before the wonderful _click_ that meant someone with information was going to help Tony figure this shit out.

“Stark Industries, God speaking,” Tony answered.

She actually let out a sigh before saying, “Mr. Stark, we need —”

“What, no ‘Tony’? We’re old friends. Or is that target-and-targetrix? I always get that confused.”

Her next sigh was cut off by Nick’s gruff voice saying, “Shut the fuck up, Stark.”

“Welcome back from the dead. You broke Washington.”

“I _saved_ —” Nick took a deep breath. “We need your assistance.”

“Hang on, repeat that. It’s going to be my ringtone forever.”

“Do not make me put a kill order out on you.”

“You want to walk to New York?” Tony asked as JARVIS came through with coordinates. The HUD lit up, and Tony kicked in his afterburners. There wasn’t a single window left intact for a quarter-mile in any direction anyway. “I mean, taking down HYDRA was my dad’s thing, but even _he_ didn’t try this.”

“You know,” Nick said distantly, as if covering the mouthpiece, “if we defect to HYDRA, we don’t need to deal with his shit.”

The suit hid Tony’s mad grin, which was a shame, because he slammed into the sidewalk right in front of the burnt-out parking garage where three pissed-off assassin types — Natasha, Nick, and a black guy Tony didn’t know — were trying to be inconspicuous about lurking. Four guns trained on Tony a half-second later, and his audio systems picked up the stranger saying, “Shit!” as he, at least, put away his gun.

A twitch of neck muscles flipped up Tony’s visor. “This is not how you show love and affection,” he said, pointing between Natasha’s two guns and Nick’s one.

“Wrong. Care to try again?” Natasha’s mouth quirked up a tiny bit on one side, but her hands were rock steady, and she was nowhere near holstering her weapons.

“Okay, this is how _you_ show love and affection, but that’s also why you’re single.”

“You know nothing about me, Stark.” Her smirk was gone, and there was a narrowing of her eyes that started to make Tony nervous.

“Enough!” Nick shoved his gun into his holster as if he resented the whole world — which was a distinct possibility on the best of days. He tugged his leather coat over the holster and said, “Stand down, Agent Romanoff. We know Stark at least isn’t HYDRA, because they wouldn’t put up with his shit.”

Nat’s eyebrows raised, and her head tilted to the side as if in agreement. She slowly lowered her guns to holster them at her back. Why she was wearing an old lady business suit, Tony had no idea. The guy to her left — wearing much more post-apocalypse fashionable body armor — let out a heavy breath and shifted his feet.

“So, not that any of you care enough to ask, but I saw Cap a while back,” Tony said casually as he clanked towards them.

“Where? Is he all right?” The body-armor guy stepped forward, hand out as if he would grab hold of Tony to wrench the information from him.

“He’s fine, other than the whole” — Tony’s brain-to-mouth filter, which never worked too reliably anyway, kicked in, and he managed to not say _werewolf_ , possibly because he didn’t want to come off sounding insane — “river thing. You Sam?”

“Yeah.” Sam turned his hand, offering it to shake, then looked down at Tony’s metal gauntlets. Kudos to him for not pulling his hand away. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Tony instantly liked him — enough that he took the gauntlet off to shake his hand. “Cap’s told me so much about you. I mean, your name and everything. First name only, but still.”

“Wilson, if you’re wondering. But seriously, he’s okay? We thought he’d gone down with the carrier.”

“He did, but since when has that sort of thing stopped him?” Tony’s shrug was hard to see in the suit, but he gave it a shot anyway. “So, three of you, one of me. Which of you do I get to carry over the threshold?”

“We have a chopper,” Nick said through clenched teeth. “So _you_ get Captain Rogers up to New York and make damned sure we’re not shot down while we follow you.”

“Nobody’s flying anywhere — not for the next few hours, at least,” Tony said. “Well, nobody who’s not me. You can’t swing a dead double agent without hitting an F-16 up there.”

Sam blinked multiple times at Tony’s words, then offered, “We can all wait out this mess at my place. You know, until getting anywhere less chaotic is possible.” He looked over at Nat, eyebrows up, as if she were the one making the decisions.

She turned to Nick and shrugged. “He’s an unknown entity. No one —”

“Hello,” Tony cut in. “Cover of _Time_ magazine. About as _unknown_ as that hack, Bill Gates.”

Natasha whipped her head around long enough to dismissively say, “Not you, Stark,” before she turned back to Nick. “Steve and I used Sam’s place as a safehouse once already, but _no one_ who would be looking for us knows he exists. No offense, Sam.” She spared a tiny smile for Sam, and Tony noticed what it did to Sam’s eyes to see it.

_Aww._

“Right.” Tony twitched his neck again, and the faceplate dropped back down. Muting his internal speakers, he asked, “Got Sam Wilson’s address, JARVIS?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Activating the externals, Tony said, “I’ll get Cap and meet you there. Order us a couple of pizzas.”

Then, before Fury could give more orders — and before Natasha could decide to draw her guns again — Tony flattened his hands, activated his repulsors, and launched himself back into the smoky sky.


	5. Chapter 5

This felt just like being behind enemy lines — which wasn’t that far from the truth. It took two hours for Steve and wolf-Bucky to cover just over a mile, give or take, evading all the emergency personnel, the National Guard roadblocks, the riots of terrified civilians...

The city was in chaos. Any other time, Steve might have felt responsible and tried to help, but now his only concern was getting Bucky off the streets and somewhere the two of them could lay low and lick their wounds.

Last time, Steve and Natasha had vaulted the wall to Sam’s tiny backyard with ease. Now, Steve reached his left hand over the gate and ripped off the lock. There was no way he and Bucky could do more than climb a flight of stairs at the moment.

Shield in hand, he stopped halfway to the back door and turned to Bucky, “Wait here. Sam’s had a hard day, too. If he’s home, I don’t want to scare him.” He scratched between Bucky’s ears as he said, “No offense, pal.”

Gingerly, Bucky lowered himself to the ground, laying his muzzle flat between his two front paws. He’d stopped whimpering in pain about a half hour into their walk — proof that he did share at least some of Steve’s healing abilities. Now, he remained silent, but his fur rippled as if he were shivering.

Steve let a deep breath out slowly, worried about how it could be possible that this massive wolf was so easily frightened. He could tear Steve apart if he wanted. What had humans of normal strength done to him to make themselves feel safe?

He couldn’t let himself think about that, or he’d go crazy with anger and pain. “I’ll be right close by, Buck. I promise. Just gimme a minute.” He tried to bend down to touch Bucky’s head, but his stomach still hurt too much.

Turning away to go knock on the sliding glass doors, Steve hoped against hope that Sam was okay, no matter where he was. If he was home, however, things would be a lot easier. And more complicated. Because explaining Bucky was going to be a challenge.

As it was, Steve got no answer. He waited for just another minute before he peeked in to see if Sam had remembered to lay the security bar in the track for the door. He hadn’t. Not surprising. What he’d been leaving the house to do a few hours ago would have been more than distracting enough. Steve whispered, “Sorry, Sam,” as he took firm hold of the handle with his free hand and wrenched it to the side hard enough to break the lock and slide the door open.

Without thinking, he whistled for Bucky and stepped softly inside, calling once more for Sam, just in case. The only answer was the rumble of the freezer cycling on, barely audible over the distant sound of emergency sirens that had been blaring for hours. When Steve looked back, he saw Bucky had crawled just inside and was lying on the carpet, blue eyes fixed on Steve.

“Hey, buddy. C’mere. Everything’s okay. We’re safe now, I promise. Sam won’t mind. He’s damned good people.”

Bucky crawled forward, claws gouging holes in Sam’s carpet, stopping only when he reached Steve’s boots. He kept his muzzle to the floor, jaws closed.

“Hey, hey... It’s okay... Buck...” Steve slowly crouched down, feeling the bullet lodged in his thigh muscles shift. He’d need to take care of that soon, considering how much he’d been working the muscle for the past two hours. He ended up on his knees with Bucky’s nose right between them, and he set the shield down so he could bury his fingers in Bucky’s fur. “I don’t know what you need. Do you want to be human? I can find you clothes...”

Bucky pushed up and forward, ending up pressed against Steve’s body. He was heavy — heavier than Steve expected — and he seemed intent on turning himself from a giant wolf into a lapdog.

“Ah, whoa, okay. Hang on, pal.” Leaning back to keep his face from being buried in fur made his damned stomach muscles cry out in protest. He was going to have to look at that exit wound soon, too. Scratching Bucky’s neck and ears with what had to be a goofy smile on his face, he said, “You’re too big for this. At least here. Come sit on the couch with me?”

Bucky backed off just enough for Steve to get up, but the moment he did, he swore at his forgetfulness. “Shit. Look at me. I’m bleeding all over. I can’t sit on the couch, Buck. Lemme shower first, okay? You can come sit on the bathmat and keep me company.” He turned to head to the bathroom, keeping his eyes on Bucky, who stood up and followed as if refusing to let Steve out of arm’s reach.

Once, Steve would’ve felt shy about taking off his clothes in front of anyone else, but life in the army had taught him modesty was meaningless. He got the water started, then stripped out of his old uniform, feeling guilty about stealing it from the Smithsonian and then ruining it. He had more range of motion in his shoulder than before, but he couldn’t even look at his stomach until he was clean. And somehow he’d have to get that damned bullet out of his leg.

Stepping into the shower brought both a hiss and a sigh to his lips, The hot water felt good on his battered muscles but it stung the wounds and the mess that was his face. Thank God Bucky had used his fists and not his claws, or Steve would’ve lost both eyes. Maybe that was another sign that Bucky had managed to control himself —

Steve’s thoughts scattered and his heart jumped into his mouth when he heard a loud scratching and felt a heavy body hit the back of his legs. He threw out his hands to keep from falling and looked back to see Bucky, still in wolf form, had crawled into the bathtub. He was shivering, hunched over, too big to stand, too afraid to sit.

_Jesus._

Awkward didn’t cut it. They’d always been close, and Bucky’d never had any shame, and Steve had nothing to be embarrassed about, but there was no room for this.

And yet, this was Bucky. There was always room for this.

“Whoa. Shit. Hey there. You okay? It’s all right, Buck. It’s all right. I’m glad you’re here.” There wasn’t space for Steve to comfortably turn around in the shower, much less a wolf Bucky’s size, but Steve knew better than to try and herd him out. “If you’re gonna stay, let me get the harness off. It’s leather.” He swung one leg to the side so he could step behind Bucky, then bent down to unhook the harness and slip it off Bucky’s back. After tossing it out of the tub onto the bathroom floor, he nudged Bucky forward into the spray and scratched his neck for a bit, hoping to calm him — and himself — down.

Soaking wet, Bucky was only marginally less terrifying. But he slowly stopped shivering, and he seemed to relax under Steve’s touch. His ears came up, and his jaw dropped open, tongue hanging out, all of which Steve took as a good sign.

Figuring he might as well take advantage of the hot water while it lasted, Steve picked up the all-in-one body wash and took an experimental sniff. It was strong but not too strong, he hoped. Dogs had sensitive noses, which meant wolves probably did, too.

“We both need to clean up, pal. Is this going to make you sneeze?” he asked, holding out the bottle. Bucky leaned his head forward and sniffed, never looking away from Steve’s face. When there was no reaction, Steve shrugged and poured a good amount into his hand, then worked up a lather as he reached down to bury his fingers in Bucky’s wet fur.

A couple of years ago — by Steve’s timeline, anyway — he and the Howling Commandos had been stuck washing tanks after they’d borrowed one to go “liberate” a French winery from the Germans. That had felt like a never-ending nightmare of soap and dirt, something that was nearly matched by this. Worse, clumps of fur came out with every pass of Steve’s hands, and he found matted fur deep down under the top layer, as if Bucky had never been properly groomed. Remembering just how ragged Bucky had looked in human form, Steve suspected that was the case.

So he took his time, trying his best to work out the worst of the loose fur, but there was only so much he could do with his bare hands. Bucky had _so much fur_ , Steve had emptied three-quarters of the bottle by the time his hands were getting close to where he wasn’t about to go touching his best friend, fur or not. He skipped over _that_ area in favor of cleaning Bucky’s ratty tail. Then he went back to Bucky’s front half, gently washing down both forelegs and working his way back again until finally, _finally_ the water ran clean.

By then, Bucky was leaning so heavily against Steve’s legs that he had Steve pinned to the side wall. But his heartbeat had slowed and his breathing was steady. And maybe what those late-night talk shows said was true, that pets helped lower blood pressure, because Steve felt better — except for his injuries. At least most of the pain had faded to a dull throbbing, but that meant the fatigue was starting to hit.

“Okay. Almost done. Scoot, so I can clean up. Don’t get out yet, though. You’ll soak everything.” Steve nudged Bucky’s side to get room enough to step into the spray. Bucky pressed up against the wall and stayed close, making no effort to climb out of the tub. It took Steve all of two minutes to soap up and rinse off, including his hair.

When he turned around to look at his sopping wet friend, he wondered if there were enough towels in the whole condo to dry him. “Do wolves shake like dogs do? If I get out and close the shower curtain, can you shake off the water?”

For the first time, Bucky’s tail wagged, slapping wetly against the tile wall. Taking that as an affirmative, Steve turned off the water, stepped out, and closed the shower curtain. As he toweled off, he heard the splash of water against the curtain and walls. It went on for a good five or ten seconds before Bucky stuck his muzzle out past the curtain.

Steve scratched his chin and said, “Only if you aren’t dripping.” Then he stepped back to make room on the bathmat for the enormous canine form that hopped out.

Bucky wasn’t dripping, but he was wet and cold against Steve’s half-dry legs. Deliberately, he touched his nose to Steve’s thigh near the not-quite-healing bullet wound and let out a whine.

“Yeah, it hurts. The bullet’s still in there, so it’s taking a while to heal. I’ll take care of it in a bit. Lemme dry you off first.” He reached with his own towel to rub down Bucky’s head, neck, and back, then tried to sop up the water from the heavy fur of his chest before switching to a dry towel. He didn’t know how to handle Bucky’s metal foreleg. With him in wolf form, the plates that normally went over his shoulder extended onto his chest. Steve didn’t know if he could dry off the metal without hurting Bucky, so he moved back instead and did what he could to dry Bucky’s hind legs and tail without offending him.

Through it all, Bucky just stood there, docile and seemingly calm. He only moved when Steve threw the second towel over the shower curtain rod, and then it was to nose worriedly at Steve’s thigh again.

“I know, I know. But...”  Steve rubbed his hands over his face and dragged them down his cheeks, then rested them on his hips. “Shit.” He hadn’t had to do this sort of thing on himself for a while, and it was never pretty. “Don’t... don’t be here for this, okay? Go hang out in the living room. I’ll be right there.”

Bucky let out a growl that lasted for a single heartbeat before it cut off like a switch had flipped. He cringed back, head and tail tucked low, and clamped his jaw shut on a whimper.

Steve instantly dropped into a squat and started petting Bucky’s head, asking, “What’s wrong? You okay? Buck?” He couldn’t get over how it looked like Bucky had been made to stop growling somehow. Some disciplinary biofeedback shock from the arm to keep him silent? Or just the Pavlovian response of being punished enough times when he’d gotten out of line? Either way, Steve was torn between seeing red about the way Bucky had been treated and worrying himself sick over the result of the mistreatment.

He felt the way Bucky was shivering all over again and pulled him close, petting over his back and sides. Bucky tucked his head against Steve’s chest, muzzle buried against his side, and heaved out a long, shaky exhale.

This time, he calmed more quickly, as if trusting Steve — or remembering the trust they’d once had.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. So am I. Just lemme do this...” He felt Bucky tense again, and he changed tack. “Okay, fine. What do you suggest?”

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, so he was caught off guard when, with a full-body shudder, Bucky sat back and shifted out of his fur, into bare, damp skin. “I can get the bullet out,” he said, looking down at Steve’s leg as if to keep from meeting his eyes.

Steve was about to say _okay,_ when he realized how insane he had to be to let the person who put a bullet _in_ him be the one to take it _out._ But that person was Bucky. His best friend. His right hand man. The guy he’d do anything for, and had, since they were tykes. Besides, Bucky had been in his monster-wolf form when he’d fought Steve, and that couldn’t have been the real Bucky — _his_ Bucky.

“Look at me a sec?”

Bucky lifted his eyes to Steve’s. “You can keep a gun on me, if you want. A head shot will stop me. At least, it should.”

_Shit._

That was a terrifying thought, that Bucky would be okay with Steve holding a gun to his head in any situation, let alone one where he was _helping_ Steve. “Hell, no. Are you kidding me? Buck. You used to have my back on every mission — off mission too. I couldn’t ever...” He looked into Bucky’s eyes and touched a couple fingertips to his cheek. “I trust you. Just be careful. I need that leg.”

Bucky nodded. “If I hurt you, knock me out. Don’t let me bite you, okay?”

Steve wanted to ask what would happen, if he’d really be turned into a werewolf, but he didn’t want to give credence to the idea that Bucky could actually bite him, so he just nodded and turned to lie face-down on the bathmat next to Bucky.

“It’s like you’re two people in my head,” Bucky said, sitting down next to Steve. He rested his hands to either side of the wound; the metal hand was cool against Steve’s bare ass despite the damp heat in the bathroom. “I think... I think maybe that’s why I didn’t recognize you at first. You were just my target.” He leaned down and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “No infection.”

Twisting around just enough to watch what Bucky was doing without engaging too many stomach muscles, Steve said, “How do you know?” Focusing on the comment about his body was easier for Steve than the one dealing with cognitive dissonance.

“No smell of rot. You smell healthy.” He shot Steve a quick, wary glance. “This will hurt. You sure you don’t want a weapon?”

“I’m sure. Just get it over with.” Steve tried hard not to tense up his leg muscles. He closed his eyes and breathed in the warm, heavy, scented air, and remembered his hands in Bucky’s fur, trying to find some measure of calm.

The first touch was a hard, sharp pinprick that made his eyes fly open again. Bucky’s right hand looked human, but his fingers were dark, shadowed with a light fuzz of hair, and his fingertips ended in deadly claws. But those claws that could shred metal and ravage flesh did nothing more than gently prod at the entry wound. Steve gritted his teeth and made himself close his eyes again, breathing through the pain as Bucky slipped two claws in.

“There,” Bucky muttered as Steve felt the bullet shift under Bucky’s touch. Then Bucky moved, and his metal hand touched Steve’s lip. “Bite down.”

Steve started to shake his head, but then he realized he was in danger of cracking his teeth, they were clenched so tight. He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder to search Bucky’s face, but his focus was on the wound. “It won’t hurt you?”

“Steve,” Bucky said in his old stop-screwing-around-and-do-as-I-say voice. The familiarity of it stopped up Steve’s throat and loosened his shoulders at the same time. So he followed orders and bit down on the side of Bucky’s finger, muffling his shout of pain into a grunt. Tears filled his eyes, and he stopped breathing for a few seconds as it felt like Bucky ripped out a whole leg muscle.

On the other side of the pain, he heard Bucky saying, “Steve? Steve, you’re okay. It’s out now. I’m sorry.” And with every word, Bucky’s voice got more and more tense and thin and nervous.

Unclenching his jaw was a challenge, but Steve managed at some point. “I’m... I’m here. I’m okay.” His breathing was both hard and shallow, catching his breath without using his torn up stomach muscles, and he was glad he was already on the floor because even with his eyes closed it felt like the room was spinning. “Thanks, Buck.” He reached back blindly and his hand came to rest on Bucky’s bare leg, which he squeezed gently to reassure him.

And because he was touching Bucky, he felt the shift, fur pushing between his skin and Bucky’s as solid bones changed and warped under his hand. He nearly jerked away, but he didn’t want to hurt Bucky or disrupt the change. Not that it mattered. It took maybe a second or two before Steve had a giant wolf — still damp — taking up most of the bathroom floor.

Assuming it was more comfortable — or comforting — for Bucky to be in wolf form, Steve tried to act like it was normal, even though he felt weird talking to a wild animal as if he were human. Better than talking to him like he was a dog, Steve supposed.

Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky staring at him, ears twitched back anxiously. Steve reached for his neck fur, murmuring, “You okay, pal?”

Bucky nudged at Steve with his muzzle. Then he licked Steve’s side, and the hot, wet touch tickled enough to make him flinch. And then frown at how weird that should be — for his best friend to lick him, especially after beating the crap out of him a few hours ago.

But somewhere in Steve’s head, it made sense. He knew canine behavior, and he knew Bucky. And interacting with both his wolf and the human forms felt oddly normal. Two sides of the same person. Two ways of interacting, but springing from the same source. He could read his Bucky’s intentions in the wolf’s behavior, at least somewhat. And that, he realized, was why he wasn’t scared out of his mind by this humongous creature. Still...

“Cut it out, I’m trying to dry off here.” He smirked at Bucky as he slowly tried to roll over and sit up without engaging too many stomach muscles.

Bucky pulled back just enough to get his head and shoulder under Steve’s back. He shoved, helping Steve to sit, and he gave another whine. This one sounded worried, not fearful — or was that just Steve’s imagination? Whatever it was, Bucky was helping.

How could anyone who spent time with him see him as a threat? Why did _he_ think he was one to Steve?

“I’m okay, thanks.” When he got to an upright position, he reached back to pet Bucky, but twisting caused a sharp searing pain to shoot through his abdomen. “Shit. Not great, but okay.” He reached for the sink to help pull himself up to standing, then ended up bent over at how raw the pain felt inside.

And then there were hands on him — long, furry hands, attached to a powerful body that outmassed Steve. In the mirror, he saw Bucky’s blue eyes staring out of his werewolf-face.

“Shit.” Steve flinched hard at the image and closed his eyes to it, pulling away involuntarily from any threat of harm from his adversary on the helicarrier. “You — don’t — I’m _fine,_ Buck. Come back.” He had no idea if he meant for Bucky to shift into human form or wolf form; he just knew that this one wasn’t going to work right now.

Bucky shrank back — literally. His fur disappeared as if blown away by a quick wind, leaving him an inch shorter than Steve and infinitely less threatening. “I can’t — I’m sorry. I _won’t_ bite you. I promise,” he said, looking down and away, hair falling across his face.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Steve turned from Bucky’s reflection to his face, then reached out and tucked the hair behind Bucky’s ear to try and see his eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know that. I just was startled. That form’s harder to take. C’mere.” He tugged on Bucky’s metal shoulder to pull him close.

“I know,” Bucky said, still avoiding Steve’s gaze. He got his metal arm around Steve’s waist and tried to support his weight. “You don’t have anything to stop me from biting.”

Steve touched Bucky’s chin to raise his head and looked into his face. “I’m not worried about you biting me. I swear. But you did enough damage on the helicarrier in that form that I...” He shook his head. “I like you like this. Or as a full wolf. However you feel most comfortable. I just want you close.” He put his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, not as much for support as for comfort, and started walking out to the living room.

“I’m only —” Bucky nodded, turning sideways to help Steve through the doorway. “Sometimes, I don’t think about shifting, if I can.”

“You mean it just sort of happens?” Steve frowned, even as he realized that made sense, from what he’d seen of Bucky so far — minutely shifting just his hands as if the claws in them were just tools at his disposal.

Bucky nodded again. “It’s kinda like breathing. If you don’t want —” He shivered almost too minutely for Steve to notice, even with their bodies pressed together. “The muzzle stops the shift, only it’s got to be made of the right material, or it rips right off.”

_Shit._

“That’s awful, Buck. No more of that. You should be able to shift however you want. I’ll get used to the... the halfway form at some point.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky said as he helped Steve to sit down on the couch. Only when his ass hit the cushions did he realize he was naked, but it was too late. Bucky leaned over, skin fading into fur as he went into full wolf-form, sprawling right across Steve’s lap like the world’s heaviest afghan. He shoved his head under Steve’s right hand and left his metal left foreleg to hang off the couch. His hind legs were stretched out across the other cushion, claws digging holes in the arm of the couch.

“Jesus, Buck. You’re enormous. You barely fit.” Steve patted Bucky’s hip as he said, “Watch the claws on the furniture, huh?” As Bucky shifted to lean more heavily against Steve’s body, Steve started to pet his head, absurdly fine with this arrangement. Bucky’s fur was warm and soft after being washed, and the weight was comforting, even though it pressed a bit on his thigh and stomach, making the wounds ache. It was kind of like having a heating pad, though, so it couldn’t be all bad for his injuries.

He wasn’t exactly sure why being almost completely immobilized by a wolf the size of a pony didn’t freak him out, but it didn’t. At all. In fact, Steve felt more safe like this than he had in months, possibly years. And the warmth of Bucky’s body, and the steadiness of his heartbeat and breathing, not to mention Steve’s absolute certainty that Bucky was literally covering him to protect him, meant that the repetitive motion of petting Bucky’s head was all Steve needed to submit to his exhaustion and drift off into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

A low, threatening growl rumbled through Steve’s body and woke him with a sense of danger in the room. He did _not_ , he noticed, register that danger as coming from the growling entity on top of him. He blinked his eyes in the low light, clenched his fingers in the fur at Bucky’s nape, and tried to see what Bucky was worried about. He twisted around, wincing only slightly at the tug on his stomach wound, just as he heard the distinct _click_ of a lock.

Modern furniture. Pale walls. _Sam’s condo_.

The door swung open, and Natasha slipped in, two guns drawn, sweeping around. She spotted the couch —

And froze, eyes going wide as she took in Steve and the wolf on his lap.

Steve held up the hand not buried in Bucky’s fur and said, “Hey, Nat. It’s okay. I promise. Put the guns away.” Then he tugged lightly on Bucky’s fur and murmured, “It’s okay, Buck. She’s a friend. So’s Sam. We’re safe here.”

Whatever Natasha said in Russian was lost under Sam’s, “That is one big-ass dog.”

“It’s not a dog,” Natasha said softly, holding both guns trained on Bucky’s head. Bucky was trying to make himself as flat as possible — an impossibility even for a wolf half his size.

Sam glanced from her to Bucky and back. “Maybe we should do this _inside_?” he suggested in a very calm voice.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and she took one step inside and to the left, keeping her line of fire clear. The guns in her hands never wavered. Nick followed, eye going wide in surprise when he spotted Bucky.

 _Jesus._ Had _everyone_ decided to show up? It took until that moment for Steve to remember he was naked underneath Bucky.

_Shit._

“Okay, look. Everything’s okay, right? Nat, you’re gonna put down your guns, and Bucky’s gonna —”

“Did he bite you?” Natasha demanded.

“No! He’s been perfect, honestly. He’s just scared. Everything’s fine. Please, Nat. He’s so tense right now, and I can’t calm him if you’ve got him covered like that.” Steve tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but it was hard, given it was seeping into him from Bucky’s trembling body.

The slam of the door made everyone jump, and Bucky bit down on a quiet whimper. All eyes went to Sam, who said, “Someone tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Steve petted Bucky’s head and neck automatically as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Sam. We had nowhere else to go. I’d dislocated his arm, and he’d shot me twice, and we needed a shower, and...” He tried to catch his breath and get his head on straight. “I promise he’s safe. He’s been really gentle with me but he doesn’t have any clothes so he’s...”

Natasha interrupted, a slight tremor in her voice as she said, “Steve, he’s —”

One last try. “Guys, this is Bucky. _My best friend._ ”

“Okay,” Sam said gently, shoving his way past Nat and Nick, who were still frozen in place. Unafraid, Sam walked right up to the couch and slowly extended his hand, saying, “Hey, Bucky. Good boy.”

With another quiet whimper, Bucky cringed back, claws digging stuffing out of the sofa as he pushed against Steve’s body hard enough to steal his breath. He had his muzzle shoved under Steve’s arm, hiding his face.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, drawing his hand back. He stepped away and dropped into a non-threatening crouch. “Steve, that leg of his... Is he like the _other_ Bucky?”

“This _is_ the other Bucky. Same guy. I know, it’s insane. But if you can get us some pants, we can show you. Right, Buck?” Steve leaned his head so his mouth was right up against Bucky’s neck fur. “You’ll shift and talk to them, won’t you? Please?”

“Steve —”

Sam snapped his mouth shut as Bucky pushed up onto all fours, leaving Steve naked _and_ uncovered in front of everyone — and then _he_ was in the same state, as his fur receded and bones shifted into his human form. He sat down next to Steve, staring down at the floor, hands flat against the mangled couch cushion.

“Sam? Pants?” Steve looked imploringly at Sam as he grabbed a throw pillow and laid it over his lap. “Can the rest of you give us a second?” He couldn’t make eye contact with Nat or Nick, his face was flushed hot, and all he wanted was a minute alone with Bucky to make him feel okay before they all tried to assimilate the flood of new information.

“Yeah.” Sam blinked a couple of times as he stood, and it took effort for him to tear his eyes away from Bucky. “Come on, guys.”

“Steve...” Nat looked from Bucky to Steve and back again.

“I’m fine, Nat. Please. Just a minute. If he was gonna hurt me, he would have done it before I shampooed his coat in the shower.” Steve couldn’t help but grin up at her as he spoke.

Without raising his head, Bucky spoke up quietly, in Russian. Natasha’s eyes narrowed at whatever he said, and she holstered only one of her guns. Then she started towards them, eyes fixed on Bucky.

“Jesus, Nat!” Steve tried to move in front of Bucky, who held him back, shaking his head. Still staring at Bucky, Natasha turned the weapon and offered Steve the grip.

“It’s loaded, a round chambered,” she said.

“I don’t want it.” Steve set his jaw and looked from Nat to Bucky and back.

“Please,” Bucky whispered.

Looking back at Bucky uncomprehendingly, Steve asked, “Will it make you feel safer?” When Bucky nodded, he told Nat, “Put it in reach.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and put the gun on the cushion right next to Steve’s thigh, opposite where Bucky sat. “He may be your friend, Cap, but he’s also what they made him.”

“She’s right,” Bucky said. “I get confused.”

“You haven’t, yet. Not with me.” Steve touched Bucky’s arm again just to have some connection.

“Don’t unload it,” Natasha advised with a sigh before she headed for the bedroom, where Sam and Nick were waiting. Sam was frowning in concern; Nick was just staring so intently that Steve could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Thanks,” Steve said, unable to look his former CO in the eye. _Former,_ he thought as they disappeared into the bedroom, quietly closing the door. S.H.I.E.L.D. was just as dead as HYDRA now. They all had a lot of rebuilding to do. This was not how Steve had imagined it would start.

“Rogers,” Sam called. “Heads up.” Steve turned, looking over the back of the couch in time to catch the two pairs of sweatpants Sam threw at him. “You two get to replace the couch.”

“Already planning on it. Thanks, Sam.” Steve took a second to wonder if, when things went back to ‘normal’, he’d be able to salvage anything from his apartment or if he’d have to start over from scratch. If so, he might as well start with a couch that Bucky had already torn up.

He handed Bucky one pair of sweats and pulled on the other. Then he looked at his friend’s face — a face that had never stopped meaning _safety_ to him — and said, “You okay? What do you need?”

Bucky breathed easier, now that the others were gone. He pulled on the sweatpants, standing up only long enough to get them over his hips, and said, “Keep the gun close. You’re safer with it. I need you safe.” He looked pleadingly at Steve.

“I _am_ safe, Buck. You kept me safe. Your instincts are good.” Steve smiled at Bucky, hoping to counteract his worried frown a bit. For a split second he wished Bucky would turn back into a wolf so they could be touching. Then he remembered everyone else in the next room. “Do you think you could sit with me and talk to everyone a bit? I’ll be right here.”

Bucky nodded, looking back down at the carpet again. “It’s safer —”

Steve knew he was going to say something horrible, like, _“It’s safer if you kill me,”_ and he’d never been so relieved to be interrupted in his whole life, even though the crash of the front door sent Bucky into kill-mode. He shoved Steve back, snatched up the gun, and twisted, aiming right at the red and gold form of Iron Man.

Thank God Bucky must have remembered Iron Man from the riverbank, because he didn’t pull the trigger, though he flinched when Tony’s voice boomed out of the suit’s speakers, saying, “Honey, I’m home!”

“Stark, you idiot!” Steve spoke more out of fear than anger, but he took a breath and held his hand out as he told Bucky, “Give me the gun. Tony’s not a threat, no matter how much you might want to shoot him later.”

“Take it,” Bucky said in a tight whisper, not moving, not shifting his aim. “Take it, Steve.”

For a second, Steve hesitated, and for the first time, he was frightened of Bucky. No, _for_ Bucky. If he couldn’t bring himself to lower the gun of his own accord, they were in more trouble than Steve had let himself believe. “You’re gonna let me have it, Buck. We’ll do it together.” He pushed down on the muzzle of the gun until it pointed at the floor. Then he reached with his other hand to ease Bucky’s left hand from the base of the gun. Slowly, he pulled the gun out of Bucky’s grip. “I got it. Let go.”

Once the gun was out of his hands, Bucky let out a shaky exhale. He pushed off Steve’s lap and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t — Christ, Steve. I’m seeing — I can’t do this.”

Steve set the gun down and glanced up to see Tony standing stock still watching them, then threw his arm around Bucky and pulled him into a tight hug. “It’s okay. You’re okay. That was unfair, and Tony will apologize later.” He waved Tony towards the other room, hoping he would join the others. “You can do this, Bucky. _We_ can do this.”

Shaking even more, Bucky pulled his legs up onto the couch, curling up against Steve. It would have worked, if not for the abrupt shift that left Steve hugging a wolf that was trying desperately to climb into his lap.

Tony’s visor flipped up as he started forward. “You need any help there, Cap?” he asked very carefully.

Realizing a moment too late that Tony couldn’t see him shaking his head over the mound of fur in front of his face, Steve responded, “No, we’re good. Go tell the others we’ll come to them when we’re ready. Please.”

“Others. Yeah, you got it.” He heard the clanking of Tony’s armor start, then stop. “Uh, Cap?”

“What?” Steve’s voice went sharp and breathless, but it was because a paw had narrowly missed his junk, and another one was standing on the hole in his thigh. He tried again, his voice milder. “What is it, Tony?”

“You didn’t screw that werewolf on the couch, did you?”

Steve found himself growling, “Get out,” hand twitching towards the gun, before he could collect himself. Bucky had gone still, but Steve refused to let go of him just because Stark was an idiot with no brain-to-mouth filter.

“Going! Going. And not saying anything about rabies shots,” Tony said, circling wide around the couch.

“You, in here,” Sam said. Steve turned to see Tony clank his way into the bedroom while Sam came out and closed the door. He walked over to the couch and asked, “You two okay?”

“Yeah.” Steve let the word out on a heavy exhale. “Tony startled us; Bucky pulled a gun. Same thing would have happened with Nat or anyone else. We’re fine.” He knew they didn’t look fine, what with wolf-Bucky cowering on top of him, but it was close enough.

Sam sat down on the coffee table. Bucky had settled — sort of — on top of Steve, one paw thrown over the back of the couch, metal foreleg resting on Steve’s arm, as if they were embracing. He twisted his head, watching as Sam reached out to run a hand down his fur.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Sam said, calm as anything. “We’re gonna let them do their spy shit in there, so you can relax. Both of you.”

Steve let his shoulders drop, and only then realized how tense he was. “Thanks. But when decisions start getting made, I want a say.” He trusted Nick, Nat, and Tony more than anyone else in the world, present company excluded, but he knew he needed to advocate for Bucky or things were going to get messy.

“Hey. You say the word, and I’ll hold them off while you two bug out,” Sam offered gently, still petting Bucky. Steve was surprised that Bucky was allowing it. Even more, he was relaxing, no longer shivering quite so much. Then again, this was _Sam._ There was no way not to trust Sam.

Of course, it was highly possible that no one had petted Bucky in a very long time, which made Steve even more grateful for Sam’s easy acceptance than he’d ever thought possible. He couldn’t speak, even after he cleared his throat, so he just nodded his thanks.

“Okay. So, uh, this might be weird, but you might want to get those sweats off him,” Sam said in that same calm tone. “Can’t be too comfortable on his tail. Right, Bucky?”

Looking to Bucky and clearing his throat again, Steve said, “Would you rather that than turning? Your choice.” He had no idea which form he’d rather Bucky were in just then. If he were human, they could talk a little bit about what was going on, but if he stayed a wolf, Steve could continue to comfort him like this. Steve had to admit, he drew as much comfort from the petting as Bucky apparently did.

“I’m kinda thinking he’s made his choice.” Sam moved his hand up Bucky’s back to scratch between his ears. “It’s okay, Bucky, so long as you stay on Steve. Your super soldier over there’s got a better chance of breathing under all that fur than I do.”

Bucky relaxed even more, and Steve suspected his exhale was the wolf equivalent of a laugh. Giving in, Steve pulled the sweats down, being careful of the tail that wagged once as soon as it was free.

“You know you’re too big to actually sit on my lap like this,” Steve said, affection dripping from his voice. “Can we rearrange?”

The way Bucky ducked his head screamed embarrassment. He backed off, claws tearing through the couch cushions, until he was sitting next to Steve, leaning so heavily against Steve’s left arm that his hand started going numb.

“So, you two okay? I mean, there’s blood all over the bathroom — and don’t get freaked out about cleaning it,” Sam said before Steve could draw breath to apologize. “I’m thinking I’m gonna need to get out of D.C. for the next hundred years or so while I’m a fugitive.”

“Shit. I forgot about the minor surgery. But honestly, you’re always welcome wherever we end up. You know that, right?” Steve tugged his arm out from behind Bucky’s body, moved the gun from the couch to the end table, then shifted and turned sideways on the couch. He ended up so he was leaning up against its arm, one leg bent and resting up against the back cushions, the other hanging off, his foot resting on the floor. “C’mere, Buck. Sit here.” He pointed the the space on the cushion just in front of where he sat.

Bucky sank down and crawled forward, flopping over onto his side. He pinned Steve’s leg to the back of the couch and let his head drop onto Steve’s other thigh. His tail wagged a couple of times when Steve scratched between his ears.

“You’re good for him,” Sam said, giving Steve a smile. “I think maybe you should stay with him.”

Smiling back at Sam, Steve replied, “There was never any other option. Besides, at this point, he won’t let me out of his sight. He ended up in the shower with me. Like this.” He gestured down the length of Bucky’s body, which was currently taking up most of the couch, then took hold of a hank of fur at his neck. “Oh, yeah. I think we used up your body wash. I’ll buy you more.”

Sam laughed and scooted down the coffee table so he could scratch at Bucky’s side. Bucky rolled over a little more, letting his head fall back against Steve’s hip. “No problem,” Sam said, taking the hint and scratching at the wolf’s belly. “You need me to look at either of you? I was pararescue,” he added to Bucky. “A doctor, only without the high pay and fancy car.”

Bucky gave an abrupt twist, and Sam pulled his hand back, carefully keeping his expression neutral. But instead of attacking, Bucky whined and nosed at Steve’s abdomen.

“Yeah, okay. All right,” Steve said to Bucky, before he turned to Sam. “He wants you to look at the gunshot exit wound. He took the bullet out of my leg in your bathroom, and I think it’s healing fine, but this one I sort of forgot about...” Steve stretched and leaned back over the arm of the couch to show his stomach. The pull wasn’t too painful, but Bucky was right to want it looked at.

Bucky backed up just enough so Sam could see the wound. Sam leaned over and gave a quiet, exasperated sigh. “Okay. I’m gonna get a wet towel and wash out the worst of the fur. I’m guessing you’re immune to infections, Cap?”

“Pretty sure my immune system is stuck on overdrive. Haven’t been sick once since the serum. But if you think it needs a stitch or two...”

Sam got up and went for the kitchen, saying, “There’s a time limit for things like stitches. By now, let’s just let it breathe.”

Bucky whined quietly and licked at Steve’s hand, looking up at him. It felt like an apology.

“It’s okay, pal. You got that bullet out. That was a big help.” He scratched under Bucky’s chin with both hands, and Bucky’s eyes closed as he relaxed. Was it weird that Steve could really get used to his best friend being a gigantic wolf?

Then again, this was Bucky’s choice. He’d shifted into this form, and he kept shifting back into it, becoming human — or that _other_ form — only when necessary. He stayed in wolf form, not even growling, as Sam returned and cleaned the wound that was already starting to scab over. And when Sam was done, Bucky nudged at Sam’s hand with his muzzle as if to thank him.

Sam grinned and dropped the wet dish towel onto the coffee table. “Yeah, Bucky,” he said, ruffling Bucky’s ears. “Me, too. Think between you and me, we can keep Steve out of trouble for a little while?”

This time, Bucky’s sigh as he looked at Steve was _definitely_ exasperated.


	7. Chapter 7

“So. About that werewolf...” Tony said it deadpan, but inside, he was grinning like a fiend. That was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of line, and no matter how fucked up the whole world was, he wanted to savor the moment. It was the little things that made life worth living, after all.

Three eyes turned to glare bleakly in his direction. Well, maybe four, but Tony had no idea what was under that eyepatch. Lasers, maybe.

“Can you _try_ to take this seriously?” Natasha asked.

“Probably not. But hey, I got you a quinjet. That buys me a whole lot of wiggle room.” Pointedly, Tony waggled his eyebrows at her.

Nick sighed. “I take it you’re in D.C. because you’ve been following the news?”

Right. Down to business. “Following. Not controlling just yet, but I’ve got people working on that.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and managed, through great effort of will, not to ask why the three of them were in the bedroom while the half-naked super soldier and the cyborg-werewolf were cuddling on the couch.

“Good.” Nick’s shoulders slumped, and for one moment, he looked exhausted. Almost human. “I’m taking the chopper. There are things I need to do. I’ll be out of touch for a while, so you all” — he gestured at Tony and Nat, then at the door — “are going to have to hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

Natasha frowned at Nick and said, “We’re going to need you.” Tony _almost_ thought it was a touching moment, until she added, “You have valuable intel. Contacts.”

“And with all the intel that went public about three hours ago, they’re all buried so deep in holes that they’ll be importing sunlight.” Nick shook his head. “I’ll be around, when you need me. For now, though, just stay focused on taking down HYDRA _and_ S.H.I.E.L.D. And don’t —”

“Trust anyone,” Natasha said quietly.

Nick smiled at her, and though it was probably supposed to be reassuring, he missed by about a mile. “You’ll do just fine.”

“That’s it?” Tony asked, interrupting before they could get any closer to anything resembling a touching moment. “We still have a werewolf in the living room.”

Nick unleashed the full ferocity of his grin on Tony. “What’s the matter, Stark? You got allergies?”

“Brand new Italian leather couch,” Tony lied smoothly. “But hey, no problem. I’ll just host a fundraiser. He can eat all the politicians.”

“That might be the only good idea you’ve ever had,” Natasha said with a faint smile.

Tony blinked, wondering what he’d missed.

“The World Security Council, Stark,” Nick explained. “Secretary Pierce?”

“Yeah, what —”

“ _He_ was HYDRA.”

“Oh.” Tony took a deep breath. “JARVIS?”

“Sir?” came JARVIS’ voice in Tony’s helmet, just loudly enough that Nick and Natasha could probably hear it.

“Activate the Serenity Plan. Pull out all the stops.”

“Activating Serenity, sir.”

“What the hell is Serenity?” Nick asked sharply.

“The plan that makes you all very glad I’m on your side and not a supervillain.” Tony stood up and turned to Natasha. “Avengers Initiative. You still in?”

Natasha looked to Nick and didn’t answer until he gave a brief nod. Then she told Tony, “I’m in” — her eyes narrowed dangerously — “ _if_ Rogers is in charge.”

“If? _If?_ Of course he is. My PR people love him. They’re already working on fixing his reputation.”

“You got this, Natasha?” Nick asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded. “I’ll take care of everything,” she said softly.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here. You all need to get to New York.”

“ _With_ the werewolf?” Tony asked. “I just want to be absolutely clear on this. We’re _keeping_ the werewolf?”

Nick turned his one-eyed glare on Tony. “You want to give him back to HYDRA?”

Tony shrugged. “Just checking. Good thing I have all that bondage gear. Full moon’s coming up, after all.”

 

~~~

 

Sitting on the couch, petting his best friend’s fur, felt understandably surreal and incredibly relaxing. Bucky’s eyes had fallen closed, and his body had relaxed like a warm, heavy blanket that threatened to cut off the circulation to Steve’s left foot. Apparently, he enjoyed the attention from both Steve and Sam.

When the bedroom door opened, Bucky’s head came up so sharply that Sam said, “Easy. It’s okay, Bucky.”

Steve looked over the back of the couch and saw Nick, looking grimly determined. “Rogers. You’re —”

A sharp whimper silenced him, and Bucky went so tense, he practically vibrated. He threw himself at Steve, claws scratching at Steve’s sweatpants and skin, trying to crawl up onto his lap.

“Bucky, Buck. Stop, hey. It’s okay, honey, you’re okay.” Steve tried not to get gouged or trampled while at the same time getting his hands in Bucky’s fur to try and calm him. He ended up caging Bucky with his legs and arms, knees pressed against his sides, arms thrown around his body. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Nick frowned. He silently lifted a hand and gave Steve a grave nod. Then he headed for the front door.

Steve nodded back as best he could, knowing Nick would get in touch if he needed to. Then he turned back to Bucky, trying to bury his fingers in Bucky’s fur to hold him still, but Bucky’s head was pushed up against his chest, his muzzle nudging into Steve’s armpit. “Hey, where are you going? Hey, Bucky. Come on. What’s the matter? I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, moving to kneel up next to the couch so he could smooth down Bucky’s fur. He shot Steve a worried look, but his voice was calm and soothing. “Take your time, Bucky. We’re here. You’re safe.”

Steve shot Sam a grateful look. It was getting harder for him to not get upset when Bucky got agitated, and it was good to have someone else who could remain calm.

“That’s a relative thing,” Tony announced as he came out of the bedroom, followed by Natasha.

“Don’t, Tony. He’s already freaked out. Nat...” Steve was trying to keep his voice calm, but he wasn’t sure it was working. Bucky was still shivering against him, and it made him feel helpless.

She took a deep breath and walked towards the couch. “We need to get moving,” she said in a steady voice, though Steve could see something else in her eyes. Fear.

“I won’t go anywhere without him. We don’t have to go with you, but we’re a package deal.” Steve looked from Natasha to Tony, his face as neutral as he could make it. He didn’t want to pressure them, but there was no compromising when it came to Bucky.

“Nick said he’s coming with us,” Natasha said.

Tony added, “There’s room enough in the Tower for... whatever he needs.”

“An apartment should do just fine,” Sam said in a warning tone. He stood, putting himself between Bucky and the others, though he didn’t pull his hand away from Bucky’s fur.

Tony held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Right. You three — Four?”

Sam looked questioningly at Steve. “Four.” He nodded at Sam. There was no way he was leaving his new wingman out in the cold.

“Right. You four think you can get to the National Mall?” Tony asked.

“Not a problem,” Natasha said. “Is that where you left the quinjet?”

“What is this, _Star Trek IV: Save the Whales_?” Tony scoffed before his visor clanged down. Through his speakers, he said, “JARVIS has it hovering. I’ll meet you up in New York. Going to draw off attention.”

“You might want to put on more clothes, Cap,” Natasha said, turning back to him. She was avoiding looking directly at Bucky.

Steve hoped that wasn’t going to become a problem. He’d have to check in with Nat about it. “Right. Buck? I gotta get up.” He didn’t stop stroking Bucky’s fur, but he did shift his weight as much as he could to get them moving.

“Here, Bucky. C’mon over here,” Sam said as he got back down, sitting on the floor. When Bucky turned tentatively, Sam reached out to scratch under his muzzle. “You sit with me, while Steve goes and finds something to wear. Otherwise, every girl and half the guys between here and the park are gonna be all over him.”

Bucky’s ribs heaved, and Steve hoped that exhale was a laugh. Slowly, Bucky crawled down off Steve, trying to stay in physical contact with him as long as he could. Sam grunted at Bucky’s weight but didn’t protest.

Steve tore his eyes away from Bucky enjoying scratches from Sam, and went to the bedroom. He found his dirty T-shirt and hoodie from the other day — or was it last year? — and threw them on as quickly as he could. He couldn’t find the sneakers that didn’t fit anyway, so his uniform boots would have to do for shoes.

He grabbed his bloody uniform and the shield harness from the bathroom, then found a trash bag to hold everything — including the shield.

When he got back to the living room, he found a tense, silent standoff, with Bucky sprawled over Sam’s lap and Natasha standing across the room, by the front door. Only Sam seemed at all relaxed. He smiled up at Steve and asked, “Ready to head out?”

“One sec,” Steve said, his eyes on Natasha. “Nat? A little help?” He stepped back toward the bedroom without looking away from her.

She gave a brusque little nod and crossed the room, walking into the bedroom. Steve followed and closed the door, hoping Bucky wouldn’t be able to hear.

He turned to her, and scanned her face, speaking low. “Are you gonna be able to do this?”

She tipped her head. “To do what?”

“You can’t even look at him, and we’re all about to get into a quinjet together.” Her mask was too good. He couldn’t gauge her reaction, aside from the slightest tightening around her eyes.

“I’ll —” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the mask slip for the briefest moment. “It’s easier if he’s not... If he looks human.”

There was something deep there. Steve knew her well enough to know she didn’t ask for things unless she really needed them. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. He feels safer as a wolf, but find him some clothes, and we’ll try.”

Her blink was a fraction of a second too long. She nodded and went right for Sam’s closet, saying, “I’ll also pack for Sam. No sense in him losing everything for us.”

She was such a good soldier. And, Steve reflected, he was lucky to have her as a friend. “Thanks, Nat. I owe you one.”

She gave him a genuine smile before turning her attention to the closet. “Sorry we’re stuck with Stark, but he has resources.”

Steve grinned halfway, only one side of his mouth pulling up. “Any port in a storm, right? At least we know he’s not HYDRA. That’s all I care about.”

“We _think_ ,” she corrected.

“Nat... The Avengers? ‘Trust no one’ doesn’t apply to them. Those folks are good people. Look at Maria. How many times did she save our asses this week?”

“That’s why _you’re_ the one in charge, Cap. I’m the one who doesn’t trust anyone. You’re the one who tells me when I’m wrong.”

Stepping up behind her to rest his hand on her shoulder, he murmured, “You liked Sam from the moment you saw him. You didn’t need me to tell you he’s one of us.”

She shot a sly grin over her shoulder. “Just because I want to do him doesn’t mean I _trust_ him. How ’bout you?”

He let his hand fall away from her and slid it into his hip pocket. He couldn’t tell if she was fishing for information of a different kind or if she was still talking about trust. “You know I trust him. And so do you.”

She laughed and shoved a T-shirt, hoodie, and sweats at Steve. “Go get him dressed. Barnes, not Sam,” she clarified unnecessarily as she bent down to pick up sneakers, which she added to the pile of clothes in Steve’s arms.

“Yes, sir.” He winked at her and smirked as he turned away and headed to the living room, where Sam was still on the floor. Bucky had relaxed enough to lie across Sam’s lap, letting Sam scratch his belly, though his head came up as soon as Steve walked in.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Sam asked calmly.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled at Sam as he walked up to the couch and leaned over, his elbows resting on the back, to look at Bucky’s face. “Here’s the thing, pal. We still don’t have a leash. And we’re about to get into a quinjet. So I need you as human until we get to New York. Can you do that for me? I’ll be right with you the whole time.”

Bucky twisted, rolling off Sam’s lap, and he shifted gracefully into human form as he did, ending up on all fours against the couch. “She can’t look at me,” he said, bracing on the couch cushions so he could stand.

Steve’s mouth hung open for a moment before he remembered to close it and nod. “Do I want to know why?” He dropped the clothes onto the couch and wished he wasn’t on the opposite side of it from Bucky.

Bucky darted a quick glance at Steve, then picked up the clothes and shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

_Shit._

“Would you tell me if I needed to know?”

Instead of answering right away, Bucky pulled on the sweats, then the T-shirt. The sweats fit okay, but the T-shirt was too tight, showing the grooves on his metal arm. “It’s not real clear. I told you, sometimes I get confused.”

Unsure if that was a cop out or not, Steve decided to let the subject slide. Nat clearly remembered, and if it was relevant, he could always pull rank on her. In the gentlest way possible. “All right. It’s okay. As long as you feel okay being around her in your skin.”

“Keep the gun close.” Bucky pushed his hair out of his eyes — mostly — and shot Steve a pleading look. “You’re the only one with a chance of stopping me.”

Swallowing to be able to breathe again, Steve said, “Odds that I might need to?” He couldn’t in good conscience take Bucky onto a jet if there was a chance that he would flip out. Mostly because the thought of incapacitating Bucky was physically painful.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He twisted the hoodie in his hands, knuckles going white.

“We’ll all be watching,” Sam said, giving Steve a _look_ and tipping his head as if beckoning him around the couch. “No matter what happens, we’ll all be there. We won’t let you hurt anyone.”

Steve finally gave into the impulse he’d been repressing since he walked in the room, and circled around the couch to Bucky, putting a hand on his back. “I’ll be right here with you. In reach. It’ll be okay.”

Bucky managed a faint smile for Steve. “You’re the only one I could never stop. No matter how stupid you got, I couldn’t stop you.”

Grinning at the memories of some of the really stupid shit he did when he was young, Steve leaned in and murmured, “You could have if you’d really tried. You just didn’t want to.”

“Your stupid’s contagious,” Bucky shot back, and for a few seconds, it was the old Bucky. _Steve’s_ Bucky.

It stopped Steve’s heart for a moment, making his chest hurt when it started back up again, twice as hard. He slid his hand up to Bucky’s shoulder, squeezed it, and pulled him close long enough to stage-whisper, “Don’t go spreading it around, then, punk.”

Bucky drew breath as if to answer, but then he went tense and pulled back, looking away. Steve turned and saw Natasha carrying a backpack. In one glance, she took in the state of the room, then went to hand the backpack to Sam. “Thought you might need some clothes. If there’s anything else you want to bring, grab it.”

“Thanks.” Sam slung the pack over his shoulder, then asked, “Two minutes, Cap?”

“Of course.” He nodded his thanks to Sam, then eyed Bucky as he addressed Nat. “You ready?”

“I’ll check the street, make sure it’s clear.” She slipped out, adjusting her suit jacket over the butt of the gun holstered at her back.

Bucky let out a breath and leaned against Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll stay clear of her, as much as I can. If — If she needs, you can lock me up or something. Hell, it’d probably be safer for everyone.”

“Stop. Bucky, please don’t talk like that. We are _not_ locking you up. Stark Tower is huge. You won’t even have to be on the same floor. And I’m here to keep you both safe. Okay? Just stay with me and everything will be fine.”

“You think I want to let you out of my damned sight? You get into trouble crossing the damned street without me watching you.” This time, the smile Bucky managed was a weak shadow. “We’ll just watch each other.”

“Yeah. All right. Good.”

For a moment, Steve felt the familiar flutter inside him of knowing that Bucky had his back — as if Bucky were nested somewhere with his sniper rifle, watching to keep him and the other Howling Commandos safe. He’d learned how to run missions with that safety net always in place, and yet, even when it was no longer there, he’d kept acting like it was. People had thought he was crazy. He’d just been certain Bucky was looking down on him from the afterlife, keeping him safe.

He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder one last time. Then he made himself take his hand away and slide it into his pocket. “But I want you close.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, trying to push it back out of his eyes, then pulled on the hoodie. He turned up the hood and nodded, stepping close enough that his elbow bumped Steve’s. He shoved both hands into his pockets, hiding the metal. “Don’t forget the gun.”


	8. Chapter 8

The quinjet Tony had apparently acquired for their use was one of the newer ones, with retro-reflective panels that meant they were able to board unseen, once they’d managed to sneak past the sparse line of National Guardsmen stationed around the park to prevent it from becoming another gathering place for a riot. Steve felt only the slightest twinge of guilt that he wasn’t doing anything to help peacefully restore order, but he was still probably a wanted fugitive, and he had to take care of Bucky.

Natasha went right up to the cockpit, with Sam following her more slowly. Bucky took the seat closest to the aft ramp — as far from the cockpit as he could get — and hunched over, elbows on his knees, hair falling over his eyes. Steve set the trash bag with his shield and gear down out of the way, then walked over to Bucky.

“Did he —” Bucky drew in a ragged breath. “Did Sam have wings?”

Steve put his hand lightly on Bucky’s right shoulder, conscious of the injury he’d done to it, and responded gently, “Yeah, Buck. When he helped me disarm the helicarriers.”

Bucky relaxed and glanced up at Steve. “Okay. Okay,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes, things get a little weird. I can’t always trust my memories. I’m glad I didn’t kill him.”

Smiling right back, Steve said, “Me too, pal.” He was so relieved to see Bucky coming back to himself more each time he was human that he sat down right next to Bucky on the bench seat, arm still around his shoulders, and pulled him close so their sides were touching. “Is there anything else I can help clear up for you? It can’t be easy, being confused about stuff that happened.”

The quinjet lifted off, briefly pushing Bucky and Steve apart, then back together. Bucky took hold of the seat’s edge between them and spread his feet to brace himself, staying close. “Fury. He _is_ dead, isn’t he? I killed him.”

“Ah.” That must have been the reason behind Bucky’s panic attack at Sam’s house when Nick walked through.

_Shit._

Did Bucky think he was being haunted by the man he’d killed? And why was he always so confused about everything? This was going to be a slow untangling of HYDRA’s web around him, and Steve braced himself for the delicate work they had ahead of them. Whatever tenuous ties Bucky had to reality needed to remain intact while he was freed from his programming.

“Yeah, that’s complicated. You damned near killed him, and then he faked the rest of it so you wouldn’t come back and finish the job. So, yes and no. He’s supposed to be dead, but only a few of us that he trusts know he’s not.”

Bucky leaned down and raked both hands through his hair. The plates on his metal hand were smooth enough that his hair didn’t catch. “Okay. Good.” He let out a ragged laugh. “I can’t remember the last time I went so long without a wipe, so I keep thinking I’m seeing things.”

“A wipe?”

“Memory wipe.” Bucky glanced up at him, then explained, “In case I’m captured, I can’t give anything away. SOP for the work I —” He winced and looked down again. “The work I did.”

_Fuck._

Steve’s stomach dropped and his skin went cold. “They took your memories away? Bucky...” He touched Bucky’s chin to bring his eyes back up. He needed to see the recognition in them to not lose himself. Half of who Steve Rogers was, at least in his own brain, was related directly to his best friend. If Bucky didn’t remember their shared history, could Steve trust who _he_ was anymore? His voice cracked when he asked, “How much?”

Bucky shook his head, frowning a little. “It’s not like erasing words on a page. It’s... messy. Hell, I didn’t recognize you — not completely. I mean, I got _something_ when you said my name...” He sat up so he could put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I guess I couldn’t believe we weren’t on the same side anymore.”

“Me neither.” Steve pulled Bucky into an awkward hug and blinked until he could see again. “I thought you were dead. For years. And then to find you again and learn you were...” His voice gave out, and he sniffed hard, trying to get breath in him. His next words came out a whisper he wasn’t sure Bucky could hear. “Twice, Buck. I can’t do it again.”

“Hey. Steve, I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky whispered, twisting around so he could get his arms around Steve. “Politics was always your thing, not mine. That’s — that’s why I kept working for the SSR, after they said you were dead. I did it for you.”

Steve pulled away far enough to see Bucky’s face. “But... If you were with SSR, we would have been on the same side. I was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. That’s what Howard and Peggy turned the SSR into. You remember them?”

“Kinda?” Bucky said uncertainly. “Peggy was your girl, right? And Howard was slick, smooth-talker, real —” He stopped, glancing away, but this time it didn’t seem out of fear or anxiety. “Yeah.”

“Sorta. She wasn’t quite — and he was definitely — But, yeah. We both worked with them during the war.” Back when everything was a lot simpler and they’d still been on the same side. “The two of them founded S.H.I.E.L.D. afterwards. When I woke from the ice, Fury brought me back in.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, then narrowed again, and he frowned thoughtfully. “The ice?”

“I...” Steve took a deep breath. “You remember how we were trying to stop Schmidt and Zola? When you... fell?”

Frowning even more, Bucky nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, Schmidt was trying to blow up the entire Eastern Seaboard with these huge bombs on a plane, and I... well, jumped onto it as it took off, and I got control of it, but there was nothing to do but put ’er in the ocean. But we were already over Iceland, so I crashed her into the ice near the North Pole. And... they found me sixty-odd years later and thawed me out.” He shrugged his shoulders, his eyebrows up.

“You — You _crashed_ —” Bucky’s exhale was sharp and frustrated. “Jesus, Steve. What the _hell?_ ”

“It was that or let everyone get blown to pieces by HYDRA weapons! What do you expect me to do, Buck? I made the same choice today as back then. There’s no other option.”

“You are _never_ leaving my fucking sight again,” Bucky muttered, leaning back in his seat. “You lucky son of a bitch. That ice kept you alive. _Idiot_.”

The sharpness of Bucky’s tone somehow eased something inside Steve, and the insult warmed him. It was how they’d always expressed their love for each other, and it felt like old times for a minute. “Yeah, well, I wish I hadn’t taken all the luck with me. Seems like you could’ve used some.”

Bucky snorted and put his hand back on Steve’s shoulder, giving a squeeze. “I didn’t end up ‘dead’ for sixty-five years. Hell, I _woulda_ died, despite what” — he squeezed again — “what happened in Zola’s lab, if not for the pack that found me.”

“Pack... of werewolves? They found you when you fell? Shit, Bucky...” Steve should have thrown a tantrum to get a rescue party out there. He’d wanted to find Bucky’s body to give him and his family a real burial. But there hadn’t been time — not if they were going to stop Schmidt and Zola. Not that it mattered now, anyway... “I’m sorry.”

“No. Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said comfortingly. “The bite was the only thing that kept me from dying. I was bleeding out.” He lifted his metal arm, adding, “As it was, my arm was too badly damaged, even for the bite to fix it.”

“But the bite helped you heal?” The idea that the only reason Bucky was here with him today was because he was a werewolf — that it was something to be thankful for — was a new wrinkle. “Is that why you scar instead of healing clean like I do?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, that’s the cryo. If there’s no time for me to heal up before I go in, things don’t heal cleanly. But that was later. Maybe four, five years?”

“Cryo?” Steve hadn’t thought to wonder why Bucky seemed to be around the same age as him almost seventy years later. It had just seemed _right_ that they were the same as always. And thinking about Peggy was too painful for so many reasons that he just hadn’t let himself wonder how Bucky had escaped that same fate. “They put you on ice too?”

“Not the pack. The cryo... It’s kinda complicated. It’s part of the memory conditioning program. Plus it’s safer for everyone. There were...” Bucky looked down. “There were a couple of incidents. Times I bit someone, or worse.“

“Hang on. You fell, you joined a pack of werewolves for four years... Then _who_ found you and put you in cryo?”

“The SSR, Soviet division.” Bucky looked back at Steve, explaining, “Turns out they knew something about werewolves, so they helped me learn to control the shifts. And they gave me this, a while later.” He held up his arm again.

Steve took hold of Bucky’s arm and looked into his eyes. “Buck, there _isn’t_ a Soviet division of the SSR. Never has been.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “What do you think was state security? It’s right there in the name, Steve. USSR.”

“Bucky,” Steve held on to Bucky’s arm with both hands. “Whatever they were, they weren’t _our_ SSR. I was on ice for a lot of this, but I _know_ it’s true. Peggy wouldn’t lie to me.” He failed to mention how full of holes her memory was as well, but he’d seen the filmstrips. The videos. Read all the files. He was _certain_.

“Yeah, but Steve... You know the sort of psyops HYDRA pulls. They’ve been lying to you. They must have been. That’s the only reason you’d be working for them... Right?”

Steve’s heart cracked at the way they’d manipulated Bucky’s reality from the very start — making him believe he was on the side working for good. And yet, he still had the unshakable belief that Steve wasn’t knowingly a bad guy. Steve shook his head, trying not to let the little voice of doubt in his head take hold, that what Bucky was saying was true. That Steve _had_ somehow been working for HYDRA all along.

But there was Nick, who hadn’t hesitated to end his friend Pierce the moment he was revealed as HYDRA, and there was the Avengers Initiative and the Battle of New York, and they had done real _good_ in the world. They _had._ And he had to believe that to stay sane.

“I never worked for them, Bucky. I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. And yes, HYDRA infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and manipulated things toward their own ends, but today we stamped that out as thoroughly as we could. There’s a lot of work to do, but I have been dedicated to the destruction of HYDRA from the start, since I found you in that lab in ’43. Your handlers have been lying to you. _They_ were HYDRA.”

Bucky shook his head again, frowning. “They fooled you. They fooled you, and I _know_ they fooled you, because everything we did — _we_ — was for you. For your memory. That’s why we were building a better world, Steve. The world _you_ woulda wanted.”

By the end of Bucky’s speech, Steve’s eyes were so full of tears, he couldn’t blink or they’d fall. “Bucky, buddy. I’ve been out of the ice for _two years._ Don’t you think if whoever ‘we’ is really cared about me, they’d know that? I haven’t really kept a low profile. I helped wreck Manhattan a while ago. They’ve been using me to...” His voice had gone too hoarse to continue.

“That’s the point. They’ve been _using you_ ,” Bucky said earnestly. He brushed his fingers over Steve’s tear tracks and said, “It’s not your fault, Steve. You didn’t know any better. I mean, shit. Two years? Two years, and the world’s changed so damn much... You didn’t do anything wrong, hear me? It’s _not your fault_.”

A quiet sob escaped Steve’s throat at hearing the very words he wanted to say to Bucky coming from his mouth. He sniffed and swallowed and wiped his eyes, then took hold of Bucky’s shoulder and brought their foreheads together. “Bucky. Buck... Listen to me.” He cupped Bucky’s jaw with his other hand. “HYDRA found you, turned you into a weapon, and pointed you directly at me. They don’t care about me. Or you. They care about your memory of me. Your belief in me. And they used _that_ to brainwash you into thinking you were doing right. The people you...” He shook his head. “Your missions. Think about the ones you remember. Were any of them _helping_ people?”

“They wiped most of my missions, so I couldn’t give up intel.” Bucky shrugged as if that didn’t matter to him. “You’ll see. Two years isn’t a lot of time, Steve. You were probably just as confused as me.”

Bucky’s confidence in the lie he’d been fed wrenched at Steve’s insides, tearing them up worse than Bucky’s bullet had. Needing to hide his face, he pulled Bucky closer and held him, shaking with bone-deep fear. HYDRA had messed around inside Bucky’s head for decades. They could have rearranged all the furniture on the ceiling, and Bucky wouldn’t have noticed. Somehow they’d managed to gut the place and started over, leaving Bucky with nothing but his name, his skills in battle, and his loyalty to Steve. And then they’d tried to erase his name — his identity — and used that loyalty to manipulate him. To have him do things in Steve’s name that Steve would have wept to see.

There was no fixing this here. Steve wasn’t sure it _could_ be completely fixed — that he’d ever have _his_ Bucky back. But he would do everything in his power to get Bucky whatever help he needed, to deprogram the world HYDRA had built for him that was reality turned on its head.

“Okay, Buck. Okay. We’ll see.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Hey, Pepper!” Tony said cheerfully.

“Tony...” The growl in Pepper’s voice told him she’d moved past worry and into anger. Damn. He’d wasted time finding the quinjet. He should have phoned her first.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Everything’s fine.”

“By whose definition of _fine?_ ”

Tony winced, glancing up at his HUD to see how far he was from Manhattan. Too far. He was damned tempted to stop in Atlantic City for a drink or three. Casinos wouldn’t blink twice if he showed up in the suit — not with his bank account.

“Tony,” Pepper said, only it came out like a threat. “Answer me, Tony.”

“Look, this wasn’t my fault! _I_ am not part of the American government, remember? Nobody wanted me on any subcommittees or anything. Besides, _I_ called _you_. Points for full disclosure.”

“You haven’t disclosed anything. Have you even seen the news? The President declared a national emergency. NATO is on high alert —”

“And I’m going to take care of all of that,” Tony promised blithely, though he had no fucking idea where to even start. “Just... don’t come home for a little while, okay?”

“Why not? Tony, are you _really_ all right?” she asked, voice cracking.

So she _did_ still love him. Tony grinned and said, “I’m fine, Pep. I promise. I’m bringing home Steve and a couple other people and, uh, a werewolf.”

“A werewolf? A _what?_ ”

Wincing at the shriek in her voice, he said, “It’s complicated. But yeah, werewolf. So stay in England. Visit Big Ben. Or I can get you into the Palace. You can have tea with the Queen or something —”

“Tony, if you tell me there really is such a thing as werewolves...”

“I didn’t _make_ it! I don’t do biological systems, remember?”

“God help me, that almost makes sense,” she said with a sigh. “I’m going to set up an emergency call with the board of directors. We have to head off any fallout.”

“And you’ll be brilliant at it. Just leave me the PR department.” Bracing himself, Tony added, “I had JARVIS initiate the Serenity Plan about an hour ago. Maybe two.”

Pepper was silent for a good five seconds. Then, without a hint of panic or anger in her voice, she asked, “Are things that bad?”

Tony’s heart broke — another reason to not go with biological repairs instead of mechanical. It was his job to protect her, and he was utter shit at it. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I think it is.”

“Okay. Do you need anything?”

She was too damned wonderful to be stuck with an asshole like Tony. He closed his eyes and said, “Tell Rhodey to stay put. I had JARVIS send the War Machine armor to him. It should get there soon. With everything going on, nobody’s going to notice if he’s AWOL for a few days, and I need you two —” He swallowed. “I need you two safe. Okay?”

“We’ll be fine. Take care of yourself.”

Tony wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t get past the lump in his throat. Instead, he ended the call and let JARVIS handle piloting for the minute or two or ten that it took for him to get his composure back.

Once he could breathe, he said, “JARVIS, get me a line to the quinjet. Let’s make sure we still have one werewolf onboard, not four.”

“Miss Romanoff has reported no emergencies, sir,” JARVIS said.

“What?” Natasha asked brusquely a moment later.

“No call sign?” Tony countered. “Bad FAA procedure. Or EPA. Or whoever the hell is in charge —”

“Transferring to copilot,” she said blandly.

A moment later, the new guy’s voice came online: “Uh, yeah?”

“Sam, right?” Tony asked, muting the connection long enough to tell JARVIS to pull up all of Sam’s intel. It filled the HUD with glowing text, and holy _crap_ , the guy had enough war decorations to leave even Captain America in the dust. “Tony Stark here. How’s the in-flight entertainment?”

“If you mean has this turned into a bad B movie, the answer is no. There’s some sort of deep conversation happening in the back compartment, and Natasha and I were just about to have a sing-along...” When the voice came back there was even more humor in it. “But otherwise, it’s boring up here. And honestly, I’m fine with that. After the day we’ve had, boring is good.”

“When we get to the Tower, open bar. You, ah... You sure everything’s okay in back?” he asked more tentatively. “If Cap’s in any shape to give a public statement... Well, it’d help. People are panicking, and Cap’s sort of the number one antidote to panic these days, despite the mud-slinging.”

“Aah... When they’re done hugging it out, I’ll go ask. But they haven’t seen each other for seventy years, so I can’t promise anything. ’Cause I’m not _about_ to interrupt a super soldier and a werewolf when they need alone-time.”

Something in Tony’s brain short-circuited at that. Catching them cuddling mostly naked — well, mostly naked and furry — on the couch was one thing, but the hugging and alone-time?

This was why biological systems were so inefficient. It took forever to reboot — at least two, maybe three seconds — so he could say, “Good thinking. Open bar. Very, very open bar.”

When Sam’s voice came back, it was slightly guarded. “Natasha says, ‘don’t hide the good stuff this time’.”

“Werewolf, pal. Were. Wolf. There’s no stuff too good for this sort of thing,” Tony said, which didn’t make sense even to him, but it was the best he could come up with. “Get back to flying before you crash. See you in Manhattan.”

Tony was sure there was the hint of a chuckle in Sam’s voice when he replied, “Roger _that._ Falcon out.”

 _Falcon?_ Tony wondered as the connection cut out. Then he shook his head, dismissing it from his thoughts.

Werewolf. Captain America and his werewolf boyfriend. The PR department was going to have a collective aneurysm.

Unless...

“JARVIS.”

“Sir?” JARVIS asked, sounding just a touch nervous. Or was that Tony’s imagination?

“Get me a list of every gay rights organization in Manhattan. Tell my PR department we may have a new angle for this mess.”

This time, Tony definitely wasn’t imagining the electronic sigh. “Very good, sir.”

 

~~~

 

Steve had no idea how long Bucky allowed their hug to go on, but at some point he’d pulled back with a sheepish smile. Then he stripped so he could shift into wolf form. He’d sprawled across Steve’s lap and huffed a sigh as Steve automatically started petting his head and neck. They stayed in that position until Sam came aft to say, “We’ll be landing soon. You two doing all right?”

Smiling softly up at him, Steve replied, “Yeah, thanks. How’s everything up front?” Steve had appreciated not having to worry about their flight in any way. He trusted his soldiers — _teammates_ — to get them safely to their destination. It was such a relief to have that be true.

“Good. Natasha’s a real good pilot.” Sam crouched down so he could hold out his hand to Bucky. After Bucky nosed at his palm, he started petting along Bucky’s side. “Stark called in.”

“Everything okay?” Steve blinked and brought his mind back to their mission. He would have sat up straighter if Bucky wasn’t so heavy.

“He’s, uh, pretty damn confident he’s got a handle on things, but he needs your help. He wants you to give a public statement.” Sam smiled reassuringly. “If anyone’s gonna calm the public, it’s Captain America and all.”

“Oh, God. Shit. Okay.” Steve sighed heavily and tried to shift under Bucky’s weight. “Gimme a sec...” Tony had leaned heavily on Steve after the Battle of New York to be a reassuring influence, and it had worked, to an extent, but it had only been because Steve felt so strongly about their cause being right in that case. It was a pretty clear choice between aliens trying to take over the world and the Avengers wrecking Manhattan to stop them. But now...

Steve had less of a leg to stand on here. And the media was going to eat Nat alive. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to think of where to even start.

“Hey.” Sam put a hand on Steve’s arm. “Easy, Cap. I can see the wheels turning at top speed, but you’ve got time. Slow down.”

If only. Steve took the time for one deep breath before he said, “We’re already late to the party, Sam. It’s been hours. I was still digesting shawarma when I gave my first press conference last time. You got a phone? I can record something Tony can splash across social media, at least.”

Sam laughed quietly and stood so he could ruffle a hand through Steve’s hair. “Looking like that? Bucky, help me out here. Would you put Steve on TV?”

Bucky lifted his head so he could regard Steve with what might just have been a wolfy grin. He bit Steve’s hoodie and tugged with a growl.

“See? The _werewolf_ says your fashion sense is shit, man,” Sam translated.

Frowning at both of them — frowning, _not_ pouting — Steve said, “This hoodie was a _disguise_ so I looked like a normal guy at the mall. Nat picked it out. I dare you to go tell her she’s got shitty fashion sense.”

“I’ll follow you into a fight, but I’m not an idiot,” Sam said, moving to sit down next to Steve. He scratched Bucky between the ears, unafraid of the fangs an inch away from his wrist. “Stark’s got a fortune. That probably means he’s got people who are going to get this organized, right?”

“Right. But we each have to do our part. Let me use your phone. Or get Tony on the line.”

“Okay.” Sam let out a sigh and got back up. Bucky looked up, and Sam told him, “Sorry. Was he always this bossy?”

Bucky huffed dramatically and let his head flop back down onto Steve’s lap.

“Look, I’m just trying to follow orders here, too. And Tony’s right. If I don’t say something, I’m gonna be vilified. The —” Steve cut off at Bucky’s growl and looked down. “It’s okay, Buck. That’s just how it works. Silence is suspicious. And whatever hold HYDRA still has in the media — they’ll be having a field day.”

“Fair enough. I’ll call Stark. Get him to set something up ASAP,” Sam offered, heading forward again.

Bucky twisted and dropped down off Steve’s lap, landing on all fours in bare skin instead of his fur. “I’ll stay out of sight,” he said as he got up and went for the clothes he’d put on another seat.

“Don’t go far. Just... Stay out of the light. It’ll be fine.” Steve shivered for a moment at the loss of Bucky’s heat on the lower half of his body. Then he stood up and took off the oddly offensive hoodie. “I’ll be right back.”

He took a deep breath, got himself into ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ mode, and went to the cockpit, where Sam had a headset twisted around so he could press it to his ear, saying, “... really prepared for a full-on — He’s here.” He met Steve’s eye and deliberately said into the headset, “Statement only. No Q&A, Stark.” Only then did he pass the headset to Steve.

“Tony. Talk to me.”

“Cap. How’s it hanging?” Tony asked cheerfully.

“Fine. What’ve you got for me? Standard ‘my fellow Americans’ stuff?”

“Jesus, you’re _never_ watching _All the President’s Men_ again. And no, we have a better angle. Heartstrings and everything. Just do the ‘truth come to light’ and ‘rooting out the corruption’ thing, and then we can all get drunk. I’ve got some Asgardian stuff that should even work on you.”

Steve squinted, which he did a lot when trying to decipher Tony’s words, but it didn’t help. “Heartstrings? Where the hell are you finding heartstrings to pull in all this mess?”

“C’mon, Cap. Three war vets and, well, a terrifying assassin, but we can gloss over that. Maybe ten words, a photo op, and then alcohol-induced amnesia for all. I’m controlling press, with a select group at the hangar which is unfinished, so sorry about that, but this way you won’t get mobbed and we can kick everyone out when we’re done. But I gotta get the party started. You’re wearing pants, right? I mean, nice ass and all, but think of the children.”

“Jesus, Tony. Bucky will _not_ be anywhere near any of this. Absolutely not. I don’t —”

“Pants, Cap. Pepper’s rules. No more press conferences without pants. It’s written on the wall in my workshop.”

“Fine, yes, pants. But seriously. No cameras on Bucky. At all. He probably won’t even come out of the quinjet until everyone’s gone. You don’t mention him, you don’t catch him on camera, you pretend he’s a ghost. Understood?”

“No cameras on Barnes. Got it. Gotta go, Cap. I’m getting the party started.”

The _click_ that followed was ominously final.

Steve wiped his hand down his face, then ran it through his hair. “Nat. Don’t let me kill him before we get to the drinking.”

“JARVIS likes me, Cap,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at him. “I can get us into any liquor cabinet in the place. We don’t need Stark alive for that.”

“Good to know, but don’t you dare let Bucky hear you say that.”

Her smile looked forced. “I’ll keep it as plan B.”

 

~~~

 

The quinjet was a military vehicle, not Tony’s luxurious StarkJet, but it still had a washroom. All too aware of how cruel the cameras could be, Steve did his best to clean up. Unfortunately, there wasn’t even a comb onboard, much less makeup that could hide the bruising, and Steve finally gave up. He’d just come from battle. If the reporters didn’t like that, to hell with them.

When the jet touched down, his heart jumped, slamming adrenaline into his system. He had to take a deep breath and remind himself this was going to be a lot easier than trying to sell war bonds to soldiers at the front. At least he wasn’t in _tights._

He went back out and saw Sam speaking quietly with Bucky, who’d withdrawn once more. He sat with his elbows on his knees, head down, hair hanging around his face. Natasha didn’t look their way as she came out of the cockpit to join Steve.

“Ready, Cap?”

“Just a sec.” Steve squeezed her arm, then walked over to Bucky and Sam. He crouched down to be at Bucky’s eye level, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s ankle. “Tony knows you don’t want to be on camera. You can stay in here if you want. I’ll be right back the moment we’re done, okay?”

Bucky nodded, meeting Steve’s eyes for a moment. “Be careful. Watch your sight-lines.” He glanced at Natasha, who was waiting by the aft ramp, which was still closed. “She’s trained. Let her go first.”

Steve smiled at Bucky’s focus on safety while tugging on his shoulder to bring their foreheads together. “Yes, sir,” he said, and Bucky barely managed a weak smile in response. When Steve pulled away, he couldn’t help but pet Bucky’s hair for a moment before standing and looking to Sam. “All set?”

“You go on ahead,” Sam said. “Bucky and I have post-flight checks to do. May as well get him a day job as a fighter pilot.”

“You’re joking.” Steve honestly wasn’t sure if Sam was or not.

Sam shook his head, dead-serious. “Dude, you’ve got alien armies attacking Manhattan and the World Security Council blowing up D.C. We need all the help we can get. And I suspect” — he glanced at Bucky — “he’s not gonna let you go back out into the fight without him.”

Bucky lifted his head enough to shoot Steve a warning look, as if daring him to protest.

“Okay, okay,” Steve put his hands up in surrender. “If fighter pilot is the way you wanna go with this, that’s fine. I was thinking you’d rather something more amenable to paws, but whatever you want, Buck.”

“There’s nothing I can’t fly.” Bucky’s mouth twitched. “I’m not so great at landing.”

Sam winced. “Yeah, so, we’ll work on that, too.”

“And you got mad at _me_ for crashing a bomber.” Steve looked up from Bucky to Sam and said, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Sam gave a reassuring nod and put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything, but they didn’t have to. Just knowing they were there — Steve’s newest friend and his oldest — was enough.

Steve joined Nat at the aft ramp. She looked him up and down, then said, “You’ll do fine,” before she hit the button to lower the ramp.

Lights flooded into the compartment like the rising sun, blindingly bright. Steve knew from the old days not to put up a hand to shield his eyes. He gave himself a couple of seconds to adjust, then walked down, with Natasha a step behind him.

As his eyes adjusted, he saw there weren’t as many reporters as he’d feared — nothing like the press conference after the Battle of New York. Just a couple of video cameras, a half-dozen still photographers —

And a bunch of cheering people with a rainbow banner?

Steve paused in his review of phrases like _condolences to the families_ and _in the uncertain days ahead_ to remember what the rainbow stood for. Why the hell were gay pride folks here? Or, what was it, LGBTQA... something. There were more letters, he was sure. He glanced at Tony, who was chatting with one of the reporters, and tried to turn his wince at the lights into a smile. For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

“There he is!” Tony said, gesturing grandly at Steve. Had he been wearing that tuxedo under his armor or had he been home long enough to change?

“Captain Rogers!” “Captain, over here!” “Is it true, Captain?”

The reporters’ shouts were drowned out by the roar of applause and whistling and cheers from the people with the rainbow banner. He stepped up to the mic and of course the moment he leaned in to speak, it fed back, which actually bought him some time. He’d been ready to talk about fighting the good fight and what a secure future would look like, but none of that seemed relevant at the moment. He looked over at Stark one more time, eyebrows up.

“Okay, okay,” Tony said, holding up his hands and moving over next to Steve. “Quiet down. Two minutes, and then we’ve got to get down to business. Thanks for taking the time to say hi, Cap,” he added, beaming as he threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Hi, folks. Happy to be here.”

“Captain, the WSC’s statement —” “Who cares?” “Is it true, Cap?” _“Where’s your boyfriend?”_

_What the hell?_

Steve frowned at Tony and leaned away from the mic to his ear. “What is this? I thought we were trying to calm people down?”

“Diversionary tactics,” Tony muttered without really moving his lips. Then his grin flashed to life, and he leaned in to say, “Easy, guys! Look, give ’em a break, will you? Just a couple of years ago, by Cap’s timeline, none of this was even legal. And it’s _still_ not, in far too many places. Right, Steve?”

“So you support gay marriage over civil unions?” someone shouted, only to be booed by the banner-wielders who started a chant about equality.

This was a horrible idea. Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t even close to true. What the hell was Tony thinking? What the hell was he going to say? “Um... I support everyone finding happiness however they can. I don’t see how that’s relevant —”

“What about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” one of the reporters cut in.

“That’s after my time, by a long shot, but it sounded like it did a lot more harm than good. I wouldn’t know.”

Another reporter jumped in, shouting, “Is it serious? Are you engaged?”

Who did they even think... not _Bucky?_   Steve was speechless. They hadn’t... Was this because he’d been naked on the couch earlier?

_Jesus._

He looked over with his Captain face on, and Tony grinned even more brightly in response. “That’s all for tonight, guys. Cap’s the old fashioned type. Thanks for coming out.” That got a laugh that Steve didn’t understand for a few seconds.

And then, Tony steered Cap towards the elevator as security guards, with the Stark Industries logo on their uniforms, lined up to block the reporters. They were still shouting questions that went mostly unheard under cheers and screams of “We love you, Cap!” and “A superhero for everyone!”


	10. Chapter 10

Looking over his shoulder at the quinjet, Steve hissed, “Tony, I told Bucky I’d be right back. They’re still in the jet, and he’s gonna be...” He didn’t want to think about how upset Bucky might get.

“Trust the system, Cap,” Tony muttered, keeping his arm locked around Steve’s shoulders. “Nat’s on guard, and... JARVIS. Quinjet lift.”

“Engaging quinjet lift, sir,” came JARVIS’ cultured, soothing voice from speakers in the ceiling of the elevator. Steve looked back in time to see the floor beneath the quinjet sinking down, probably to a hangar level, like on the helicarriers.

“JARVIS, take us to that level.” Steve willed the elevator doors to close quicker and tried hard not to bounce on his toes.

“Very good, Captain,” JARVIS said.

“See? All taken care of,” Tony said proudly.

Steve rounded on Tony the moment the doors were closed. “No. You do _not_ get a cookie, Stark. What the _hell_ was that? What did you tell them? How do you even —” He cut himself off before he said the word _know_ because that wasn’t right. There was nothing to know. He just breathed and stared Tony down instead.

In return, Tony gave him a kicked puppy look and asked, “What? What’d I do? Nobody shot you. Nobody arrested you. After the day you’ve had, this is a win.”

“You just ambushed me with a gay pride press conference when I don’t — We’re not...” Steve turned toward the door and huffed out a breath. “What the hell gave you the idiotic idea that was a smart move?”

“Are you kidding? This is the twenty... teens,” Tony said, frowning. His grin returned, and he clapped Steve on the shoulder. “You two don’t have to hide it anymore. The world loves diversity, and you, my friend, have just become an icon for more than just big government, big armies, and conspiracy theorists. I just bought you the entire Left. You’re welcome. Mazel tov. I’ll throw you the biggest wedding ever.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Bucky and I haven’t ever —” Steve cut off as the doors opened, and he pushed out of the elevator, headed straight for the quinjet. There was nothing in his head now but making sure Bucky was okay. He resolutely didn’t think about what that might mean.

If the landing level had been unfinished, the hangar level was positively barren. Bare girders, industrial lights suspended from wires, raw cement floor with catwalks. A massive articulated claw hung down over the landing pad, ready to close around the quinjet.

Natasha came down a short flight of stairs from the quinjet’s landing pad, walking on her toes so her high heels didn’t drop through the perforated aluminum flooring. “They’re just finishing up. Got a minute, Cap?”

“Ah, yeah. Is he okay?” Steve looked past her but there was nothing to see. Bucky and Sam had to still be inside. She took hold of Steve’s arm to draw him away from the elevator. He went with her, saying, “I mean, I know you don’t want to interact with him —”

“Cap. Steve.” She stopped, looking up at him, and set her hand on his chest. “It’s — It’s in the past, everything that happened with him. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in a bad situation. Either of you.”

He frowned at her and said, “It’s okay. He understood. Whatever history you have, he didn’t argue about staying human. But... Is there something I should know?” Steve didn’t want things to be difficult between his friends. He had so very few that he wanted them all to get along.

She blinked twice, which was practically a shout from her. “What? No! No, Steve. I never even saw him out of his — his two _other_ forms. He never...” She gave a faint smile. “He never cheated on you. I don’t think he would, conditioning or not.”

_Cheated?_

It was Steve’s turn to blink. “I... We aren’t — we _never_ — I don’t understand.” He was starting to wonder if HYDRA had brainwashed _everyone_ somehow. “All I want to know is if you can stand being around him. He’s my best friend, and I... I don’t want it to be difficult for you.”

“It’s okay.” She got up on her toes and wrapped a hand around his nape, pulling him down so she could kiss his cheek. “We’re all we’ve got now. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“Okay.” Steve still felt baffled by the last fifteen minutes and was itching to see Bucky, even though now he wondered if it was going to be awkward. “Just tell me if there’s anything you need from me, all right?”

“Just a drink and about twenty hours of sleep. But go on. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” she said with that smile so few people ever saw — the one that was full of affection, not promises of death.

He took hold of her hand and squeezed it in thanks, then turned to head to the quinjet. And his heart kicked hard in anticipation. That made no sense, because he wasn’t nervous, not really. Not quite.

He climbed up the stairs to the landing pad just as Sam came down the ramp, followed by Bucky. Though Bucky had his hands jammed in the pocket of his hoodie and had his head ducked down, he seemed a little more relaxed.

“How’d it go?” Sam asked, giving Steve a bright, easy grin.

“Ah... Did you see any of it? Either of you?” Steve felt his cheeks heat up, absurdly.

“No...”

Bucky jogged down the last couple of feet of the ramp, demanding, “Did they try something with you?”

“No, Buck.” Steve reached out to brush his hand down Bucky’s arm, then pulled back before he touched anymore. “Tony is an idiot, and it ended up being the shortest question and answer I’ve ever seen. I dunno. I didn’t even make a speech.”

“But you’re not hurt?” Bucky took hold of Steve’s shoulder and looked him over. Then he sighed and muttered, “I’m _really_ not letting you out of my sight.”

“He looks fine,” Sam said over the hydraulic hiss of the quinjet’s ramp. “Come on. Let’s get out of the way before the giant claw gets us.”

Steve stepped back and then took the opportunity of moving to beckon Sam. “Buck, give us just a sec, okay? I’ll stay in your line of sight, I promise.”

Bucky frowned, glancing around, then hunched his shoulders and moved away from everyone. Natasha and Tony, standing by the elevator, watched him for a few seconds, then went back to whatever they were discussing.

“Sam,” Steve practically whispered to make sure no one would overhear them, leaning in and noticing Sam’s worried frown. Steve was starting to feel like he was going crazy, so maybe that was the right reaction. “Do you think I’m gay?”

Whatever Sam had been expecting to hear, that apparently wasn’t it. He blinked a couple of times, then said, “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. The only thing that matters is what you feel.”

“Well, I feel really damned confused, because somehow everyone else thinks I am. That press conference was set up as if I’d just come out. I don’t remember coming out.”

Sam took a deep breath and looked back at the landing pad. Then he said, “Tell you what. Let’s get everyone settled, and then we can talk about it, okay? Bucky needs to get settled. Probably wants to put on his fur, too. He seems more relaxed that way.”

“I know, I know, but Sam. Everyone’s gonna talk about it _around Bucky._ And I... Tony thinks we’re...” Steve made a vague motion with his hand, then immediately put it in his pocket.

“Steve... You _were_...” Sam shook his head and squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll distract Stark. You get Bucky settled in, and then we can talk whenever you want. Leave everything else to me.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Steve took a deep breath and smiled gratefully at Sam, patting his back before heading off to catch up with Bucky.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, giving Steve a smile.

The tension in Steve’s shoulders dissipated as he smiled back at Bucky. “Yeah, sorry. You doing all right?” He wanted to reach out and touch Bucky, but now everything about that felt weird.

“What, this your way of checking up on me? I’m a better pilot than you,” Bucky scoffed, glancing in the direction of the elevator. “They waiting for us, or should we get the next one?”

“I just wanted to make sure...” Steve couldn’t say he’d been worried Bucky would freak out without him, because that sounded ridiculous. He also couldn’t say anything about how quickly Bucky had taken to Sam, because that would sound like he was jealous, which he wasn’t. Definitely not. And he wasn’t sure he should want to be alone with Bucky as much as he did, so he finally just said, “Whatever you want, Buck.”

“Just don’t go running off without me.” Bucky’s smile was almost right out of Steve’s memories of their time together before the war. “You wouldn’t believe how damn fast I am, when I want to be.”

Steve would believe it, because he saw a glimpse of it when they were fighting in the helicarrier. “In which form?” He started walking slowly toward the elevator, waving his hand to Sam to let him know they didn’t have to wait. Sam took the hint and herded Nat and Tony into the elevator.

“Any. A lot of it carries over, even like this,” Bucky said, looking down at himself. “I know we did a lot of tests, but I don’t remember the results. I’m just stronger and faster, even without shifting.”

“So all of that’s from the bite, not whatever HYD— your handlers did to you?” Steve had given up on contradicting Bucky’s programming for now. The answer was more important than the semantics.

“Well, no...” Bucky frowned a little, slowing his footsteps. “The rest of the pack... they all died, eventually. Wounds. Old age. Whatever Zola did... I guess I’m half-werewolf, half whatever you are, pal.”

“Old age? What’s the lifespan of a werewolf?” Steve couldn’t get enough breath for a minute. The idea that there might be a threat to Bucky’s longevity stole the air from his lungs.

“No idea.” Bucky frowned. “They weren’t big on talking. Mostly, they ran in full-wolf, except when we were fighting. It’s... It’s sort of like we all lived in each other’s heads, a little bit. Like how soldiers are all supposed to share thoughts and stuff.”

“Was it good, being with them? Were you... okay?” Steve wanted to say _happy_ but even he didn’t know what that word meant anymore. He just wanted to know if there was some part of Bucky’s life that hadn’t been filled with coercion and manipulation and killing. Though who knew? Maybe that was what it was like to be a werewolf too.

“It was... I wasn’t scared or worried or... well, anything. I was just sort of there.” Bucky stopped at the closed elevator doors and looked down. Quietly, he said, “I forgot everything, like that, at least on the surface. Nothing hurt. I wasn’t alone.”

Steve put a hand on Bucky’s back, right in between his shoulderblades. “I’m sorry, Buck. I should have come to find you.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about it. We’re here now, right?” Bucky smiled up at Steve. “Hell, if not for the damned calendar, I wouldn’t even know how long it’s been. Feels like it couldn’t be more than a few years. Not almost a century.”

“That’s how I feel. I keep wanting to say ‘a couple years ago’ but I mean 1945. No one I know now was alive then. And apart from Peggy — and now you — no one from back then is still living. It’s been really lonely, Buck. I’m so damned glad to have you back.”

Bucky threw his metal arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Not going anywhere, I promise. No matter what happens, it’s just —” Bucky shook his head and let go of Steve, turning back to face the elevator. “We’re together now. I mean, here.”

Unable to stop himself, Steve tugged on Bucky’s hoodie at the elbow, his voice scratchy as he asked, “It’s just what, Buck?” He needed to hear what came after _no matter what happens._ Needed it more than he was ready to admit.

“Us. This whole Avengers thing of yours,” Bucky said, searching the sides of the elevator. “Where’s the damned button for this thing?”

“JARVIS knows we’re here. He’ll bring the elevator down.”

Bucky glared at the elevator impatiently. “Sam... introduced me to the jet’s computer system, JARVIS. He said he can monitor the building, too, and keep watch, in case I... you know.”

_Right._

Hating the fact that Bucky was still worried about hurting him, Steve tried to nod casually. “That was put into place with Dr. Banner. Though honestly, Tony needs it just as much when he’s in his workshop. To tell you the plain truth, you aren’t that special around here, punk.” He nudged Bucky’s shoulder with his own, a slow smirk spreading across half his face.

“Yeah. I guess not.” Bucky shrugged and smiled up at Steve.

The smile unwound Steve, and he couldn’t help staring at it as he said, “I mean, you are to me, but that’s nothing new.”

“Steve...” Bucky shook his head, then turned away as the elevator doors slid open. Then he muttered, “About time,” and got in.

“What, Buck?” Steve shook his head to clear it and followed Bucky into the elevator.

“Nothing. JARVIS said just talk...” Bucky looked around at the inside of the elevator. “JARVIS, where we headed?”

“Will the residential level do, Sergeant Barnes?” JARVIS asked.

“Yeah. Sounds fine. Right?” Bucky asked, glancing at Steve.

“Yeah. Wait. Is that where the others are, JARVIS?” Steve asked, automatically looking up at the ceiling.

“Sam is at the residential level. Miss Romanoff has requested I cease monitoring her movements within non-restricted areas of the Tower. Mr. Stark is in the penthouse lounge.” JARVIS paused a heartbeat too long. “At the bar.”

Turning to Bucky, Steve said, “Nat’s probably having a drink. Sam might be waiting for us. What do you want? You need to shift?”

“Maybe just — just some time to myself. Besides, Sam’s waiting for you, right?” Bucky asked, searching the front wall of the elevator as if trying to avoid Steve’s eyes.

“I guess? Though it seems you guys are getting along great, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you, too. If you want.” Steve managed to sound normal when he spoke. Or at least not petty.

“Look. Whatever’s — It’s fine. He’s a great guy. If you — I’m not gonna get in the way,” Bucky said, frustrated.

“I don’t —” And then Steve stopped, because he _did_ understand. His cheeks warmed at the thought. “I _don’t_ — Sam and I are _just friends,_ Bucky.” Of course, the moment he said it he was worried that wasn’t what Bucky had been implying, and his face flushed even hotter.

Bucky shrugged. “That’s fine. Like I said, he’s great. Really great.”

_Shit._

“Wait, do _you_ want — If you want that, I can...” Steve had to stop and catch his breath, because he wasn’t actually sure he _could._ If Bucky liked guys, and he wanted Sam...

The doors slid open as Steve was still failing at words, and Bucky took the opportunity to walk quickly out. “Do what you want, Steve. You never let anyone tell you what to do before. No sense starting now.”

“Bucky...” Steve was quickly losing his grip and had no place to land. Everything seemed jagged at the moment. Especially Bucky’s words. “Where are you going? Don’t leave —” He sounded like a child unable to be without his teddy bear. He quickly snapped his mouth shut. The last thing Bucky needed was to be told what to do.

Bucky reached back, grabbed a handful of the hoodie, and hauled it over his head. He dropped it on the floor. “Tell them whatever you want. I’ll back you up. JARVIS, which room?”

“The last two —” was as far as JARVIS got before Bucky dropped to all fours, clothes tearing as he slipped into his wolf form. “Shall I simply open the doors?”

“Yeah. Whatever he needs, JARVIS.” A sharp pain ripped through Steve’s chest as he watched Bucky run the length of the hallway — and, yes, he was faster than Steve expected. Bucky disappeared into the room at the far end, and the click of the door as it shut him away from Steve echoed loudly in his ears. Quietly, he told JARVIS, “Help him feel safe.”


	11. Chapter 11

The bedroom smelled of chemicals and paint. The carpet was so new, it crunched underfoot. The ceiling was edged in blue tape splattered with paint.There was a tarp taped over what looked like a full-length window and a glass door that probably led out onto a balcony. Other than a massive bed, the top half covered with pillows piled high under layered duvets and sheets, the room was empty. The rest of the apartment was in even worse shape, with no furniture and bare electrical boxes.

“I’m thinking Stark’s priorities are pretty clear here,” Sam said, looking up from where he was sitting on the floor by the closet. There were no shelves or bars to hang clothes, so he’d folded everything neatly on the floor.

“Well, even _I_ feel like I could sleep for a week after today, so he’s not wrong?” Steve glanced around again and offered, “My place might be a little better. Or...” He didn’t want to deal with the others right now, so suggesting the penthouse lounge was a bad idea, even if they could have a drink. Or, Sam could. Steve didn’t trust whatever Tony thought might actually get him drunk. “I dunno.”

As Steve sat down on the floor, Sam dropped his backpack to one side, then turned to face him. “Well, I’m not a proper therapist, so we don’t need a couch. But the doctor is in. Talk to me.”

Steve shifted, trying not to put stress on his still-healing thigh. “I dunno what to say, Sam. I feel like I’m losing him, and I just got him back. It’s almost easier to talk with him when he’s a wolf than when he’s human. And I have no idea how to help him.”

“Ten hours ago, you two were trying to kill each other. I’d say that the lack of bloodshed is progress.” Sam gave an encouraging smile. “Small steps.”

“But that was when he didn’t know me. Or thought he didn’t. Now he does. He _really_ does. And...” Steve let his breath out but he couldn’t continue. Everything felt jumbled and strange, and he could feel his pulse in every injury Bucky had given him. He shook his head, unable to say anything else.

Sam let the silence hang for a few seconds before saying, “This is supposed to be all about you. There are all sorts of rules, see, for being a counselor. But Bucky isn’t in a position to talk for himself, and I think he needs you even more than you need him, so we’re gonna put the rules aside. Okay?”

Steve nodded, frowning, wondering how much Sam and Bucky had talked in the quinjet while Steve was being bombarded with absurd questions.

“The Sergeant Barnes you know _is_ there, but he’s gone through seventy years of people screwing with his head. He didn’t do a lot of talking, but what he didn’t say is a lot more important than what he did. No wants. No decisions. No personal choices or freedom at all, for that matter. Only _he doesn’t see it_. He thinks he’s made choices at every turn, but the whole time, he’s been steered. ‘Do this and innocent lives will be saved,’ they tell him, so he does it, because he’s a good person.”

“Yeah, I know. They told him he was a good guy, and _I_ was HYDRA. It makes me feel sick, Sam. And then they wiped his memory after every mission, and...” The force of Steve’s nausea at the thought of what that must have entailed had him breathing deeply for a few seconds.

“I think,” Sam said carefully, “that was _his_ choice. At least, they manipulated him into making that choice. He talked a lot about operational security and compartmented intel.”

Steve tried to take a deep, steadying breath as the conversation in the quinjet replayed itself in his mind, but his throat started to close up on him. “I don’t think I can talk about this, Sam. HYDRA brainwashed him to the point that he thought he was fighting on our side, and then told him _I_ was HYDRA. There’s no way to convince him that isn’t true. I tried.” Steve looked down at his hands at rest in his lap and felt useless.

“It’s not your job to convince him. And it’ll probably be a hell of a lot worse if you try to do it all at once.” Sam leaned over to touch Steve’s arm and tried to catch his eye. “The best thing for you to do for him is to be there for him. The best thing to do for yourself is to _not_ neglect yourself and what you want for his sake. And that’s the hard part.”

“All I want is him —” Steve caught his breath at what it might sound like to say that, and after a moment he tried to finish the sentence. “For him to be okay.”

Sam smiled and squeezed Steve’s arm before he sat back again. “Okay. Then how about we do this? You look out for him, and I’ll look out for the both of you? ’Cause no offense, Cap, but you’re kind of shit at looking out for yourself.”

A half-smile spread across Steve’s lips, but he couldn’t unfurrow his brow. “I never had to. I always had Bucky.”

“And you still do, deep inside. Let’s just bring him back one step at a time.” Sam turned a little more so he could lean against the unfinished closet doorway. “But first, you. There anything you want to talk to me about?”

“No. I’m fine.” Steve said, shaking his head to keep from asking inappropriate questions about this whole coming out mess. “I’m worried, but fine.” Worried, confused, feeling slightly out of control, unable to parse his emotions into something recognizable, but fine. The definition of _fine_ had always been malleable in Steve’s head.

“You asked earlier if I thought you’re gay.”

Breath catching in his throat before he answered, Steve coughed, then said, “Well, everyone else seems to think I am...”

“Okay. What about me?”

“What — what _about_ you? Do I think _you’re_ gay?” Steve felt like a heel asking, then worse when he realized that couldn’t be what Sam meant. His cheeks felt inflamed in seconds.

But Sam nodded, smiling encouragingly. “Yeah. What am I?”

“I — I have no idea. If I had to guess...” Steve remembered when Sam first saw Nat, then thought about how Sam and Bucky had taken to each other, and he was at a loss. “You could be anything. Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?” He scooted over so he could rest his head and shoulder on the side of the bed, hoping he hadn’t offended with his answer.

Sam nodded. “There are all sorts of labels. ‘Pansexual’ is probably the closest to ‘all of the above’. If I were, how would you feel about that?”

Steve felt a stab of pain at that, which was ridiculous. And unhelpful. “I dunno. It’s not my business. If you wanna... if he and you... It’s fine.”

“Steve. Steve, no one’s doing anything with anyone,” Sam assured him. “After the day we’ve had, no one’s probably doing anything for the next week.”

“Okay. Yeah. Right.” The tightness in Steve’s chest eased, but that only caused guilt to take the place of jealousy. “But... are you?”

Sam smiled. “Does it matter what I am?”

“I — Sam...” Steve huffed out his breath. “I’m not trying to make you... I just... You brought it up, and if you feel comfortable letting me know what you...”

“How I identify?” When Steve nodded, Sam shrugged, saying, “I don’t much like labels, but pansexual will do. I’m attracted to people more than bodies or that sort of thing.”

Nodding some more, Steve looked down at his hands again. “Okay. Okay, thanks.”

“So, what about you? What label would you choose for yourself?”

Gaping at Sam for a second before remembering to close his mouth, Steve cleared his throat before he could find voice — or words — to answer, “I, ah... I don’t know what, um... what the choices are.” He cleared his throat again, but didn’t have anything more to say.

“That’s okay.” Sam bent his knees so he could fold his arms on top of them. “And it also changes. Just because you’re something one day doesn’t mean you can’t be something else the next. Labels can become a prison, if you let them. It’s okay to do without one.”

“Except Tony seems to have given me one already. And I don’t even know which one.” Steve rubbed his hand over his face, then leaned his chin on his hand. “What a mess. And Bucky...”

“Right now, I think Bucky’s got a lot bigger concerns than people thinking he might be anything but straight.” Sam sighed. “I can talk to Tony, see if I can get him to back off the both of you. Would that help?”

The sigh that escaped Steve made answering Sam’s question unnecessary. “Thanks, Sam. I just don’t want Bucky to feel weird about all this — more than he already does. I’m afraid he’ll...” What _was_ he afraid of? That Bucky would back off? That he _wouldn’t?_ Steve shook his head again, silent.

“Back when you two were kids, being gay — being anything but straight — was pretty bad, right? Maybe even worse than being black?” Sam asked with a wry smile.

“Don’t say worse. The institutionalized racism in this country...” Steve frowned, and Sam gave him a look that he read as ‘don’t go getting off track here’. He took a deep breath and said, “Yeah. It was illegal. And kids would persecute the guys they thought were gay. But it happened, and there were places...” He thought about the dance hall down the street from Bucky’s place, where people only seemed to dance with folks of the same gender. The hookers who didn’t fit into their dresses. The sailors who’d come down from the docks, looking for them.

Sam nodded. “Things have changed. Maybe not as much as they should — for either issue — but they _have_ changed, and they’re changing more every day. So, if you want to put on a ‘straight’ label because you’re maybe worried about what people might think... I say, don’t worry too much about that. _But_ ,” he added, holding up a hand, “if you _are_ straight, that’s okay, too. Don’t let someone else’s expectations or your own fears make you pick something you’re not.”

“Okay.” Steve pressed his lips together, worried, but Sam’s words had helped. “What do I do about...” He took a deep breath. “I think Bucky thinks we...” His face flushed hot again and he couldn’t finish his sentence. Or look at Sam.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“You and me.” Steve winced and clenched his hands into fists in his lap. Then he made himself unclench them.

Sam blinked in surprise. “Has he said something about it? He didn’t say anything to me...”

“I dunno. I mean, he said he didn’t want to ‘get in the way’ and... No, never mind. I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. I’m sorry.” Steve stood up to go, not wanting to do something juvenile like tell Sam that Bucky liked him. That wasn’t his information to reveal. Besides, he wasn’t even sure that was what had been said.

Sam got to his feet. “You can come talk to me about anything you need. Letting stuff fester inside... Well, maybe you can’t get an infection in your body, but what about up here?” he asked, tapping the side of his head.

Trying to smile but certain he was at least halfway failing, Steve reached out to put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I dunno, pal. But I’ll let you know if I need you to help with anything.”

“I’ll be here,” Sam promised. Then he gave the room a skeptical look, adding, “Or, well, somewhere with more furniture. Maybe that drink Tony promised. A guy like Stark’s gotta have one hell of a liquor cabinet, right?”

The smile that spread over Steve’s face felt easy and natural, finally. “Yeah. Do that. Tell JARVIS to take you to the penthouse. Or just wherever Tony is getting drunk.”

“What about you? You want to come with?” Sam asked, heading out into the unfinished, empty living room.

“Nah, I should check on Bucky. He might not want me, but I gotta try.” Steve followed Sam to the door. “But thanks. For everything.”

“Any time,” Sam promised, opening the door, which rattled and nearly fell as the bottom hinge gave way. Steve threw out a hand to brace it before it could twist the top hinge, and Sam wrestled it back in place. Together, they carefully opened it. “Maybe I’ll get a toolbox, too.”

“Tell Stark, but don’t let him near it if he’s drunk. He’ll go a week without sleeping just to build you a door that disappears when you walk up to it.”

 

~~~

 

In contrast to Sam’s unfinished apartment, Bucky’s rooms were gorgeous, with finished walls and flooring, light fixtures and electrical plates, and the type of furniture that came with price tags that would probably make Steve flinch. And no sign of Bucky — at least, not in the open-plan greatroom that served as a living room, dining room, and kitchen.

“Buck?” Steve peeked in the door to the bedroom, but still didn’t see anyone. “You here, buddy?”

No response. When Steve had asked JARVIS where Bucky was, he’d said here, and the door to the apartment had been unlocked, so Bucky must be somewhere. The question was whether he wanted to see Steve or not. “Bucky, hey, I’m sorry. Is it okay that I’m here? I don’t wanna upset you, I just...” He stepped into the bedroom, thinking Bucky might be in the ensuite bathroom, or he could be...

The closet door was open, and Steve could just barely see two paws and part of what he suspected was Bucky’s tail. The closet was twice the size of Sam’s, with sliding doors. Steve probably could have laid down at the bottom, though it would’ve been a tight fit. Apparently Bucky took up every inch of floor space and then some.

_Right._

Steve let out the breath he’d been holding and approached slowly, not wanting to startle Bucky or wake him if he was asleep. “Bucky... It’s Steve. Can I join you?” Not that there was room, but Steve couldn’t think of another option. Coaxing him out could end up taking all night.

Bucky’s head was hidden by darkness. He didn’t move. Only the ripple of his fur proved that he was breathing. Steve gently slid the closet door open further until he could see Bucky’s head, then crouched down and tentatively rested his hand on the fur of Bucky’s neck. “Hey.”

Steve could just barely hear short, harsh breaths, as if Bucky were panting or gasping for air.

“Hey, hey. What’s the matter? Are you okay? Bucky?” Steve leaned in closer to try to see into the dark closet, worried something was physically wrong with him. “C’mere, show me what’s wrong. I’ll... I can help.” Steve refused to think about ways in which that might not be possible.

But Bucky didn’t move. He had his eyes closed, and his ears were flat back. Feeling helpless, Steve just sat there, listening to Bucky’s breathing long enough to decide it didn’t sound like Bucky was in pain. His breathing wasn’t wet or ragged or interrupted by whimpers.

He also hadn’t tried to growl or do anything to make Steve think Bucky wanted him to leave. So he lightly petted Bucky’s neck and back, hoping the contact would calm Bucky as much as it did him. Steve consoled himself with the thought that even if he wasn’t quite welcome, at least Bucky could tolerate his presence. Because if he ever lost that, he would have lost everything.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve woke to pain — the dull ache of multiple healing wounds and the sharp stab of a crick in his neck. His shoulder was angry because he’d slept funny on it, forgetting the first rule of sleeping rough: always lie on your back. His head hurt, too, but that could have been because he was lying right in a square of early morning sun, and even squinting couldn’t keep enough light out for him to see.

But he could hear heavy breathing, slow and steady, right near his ear. He raised his head to see the sliding closet doors of a well-appointed bedroom and a massive mound of dark gray fur that was inches away from his nose.

 _Bucky_.

Though he was still in full wolf form, he’d fallen asleep at some point — they both had, apparently. Bucky had relaxed, too, rolling over onto his side with his feet on either side of the sliding closet doors. His head was crammed up against the wall, and he was quietly snoring, probably from the position.

Well, Steve thought, at least they'd definitely gotten to the point of trusting each other. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t bitten off Steve’s head in the night would convince Bucky he wasn’t a threat to Steve. And the fact that Bucky was still asleep had to mean Steve didn’t register as a threat to Bucky, which was equally important in Steve’s book.

But was it weird to fall asleep petting your friend, and then wake up like this? It had felt like so long since Steve had a friend — a real, close friend — that he didn’t know anymore. To play it safe, and to not look like a creep, Steve opted for a quick, silent getaway. That way it wouldn’t be awkward for either of them — or worse, violent and traumatizing — when Bucky woke up.

He wasn’t assassin-quiet, but he managed to slink out of the bedroom without hearing Bucky’s breathing change, so he considered that a win. When he got into his own apartment and looked around for the first time, he felt grateful that the hot water in the shower worked, and then he promptly made use of it. The next moment of gratitude was when he discovered Stark Industries track suits and T-shirts in the dresser drawers. He found clothes that weren’t too tight for him and dressed. He didn’t even bother searching for shoes since it was summer, and even in the air conditioning he always ran hot. It had something to do with the serum and his metabolism.

Then, at a loss, he said to the empty air, “JARVIS?”

“Good morning, Captain,” the computer said from the ceiling.

“Can I trouble you for a rundown on breakfast options?”

“Your kitchen is fully stocked, though you might need to borrow the facilities in Sergeant Barnes’ apartment to have a working oven. Or...” JARVIS hesitated. “If I might impose upon you, Captain, Mr. Stark is in the penthouse kitchen. Unsupervised.”

“Ah. Right. Okay.” Steve took a deep breath and let it out. “I can do that.” Tony was alternately an idiot and an asshole, but he was also one of Steve’s teammates, one for whom he had a lot of respect. And since Bucky was sleeping safely, breakfast and a check-in on their status as fugitives from the law — as well as HYDRA’s Most Wanted — were in order. Besides, they’d never had a drink together last night.

On his way up, however, Steve remembered the disastrous press conference from yesterday, and he almost told JARVIS to take him back down. But he decided that his personal feelings about that event and Tony himself weren’t as important as knowing whether his team had any chance of getting out of this mess alive. He had Bucky to look out for, after all. And he’d inadvertently dragged Sam into danger as well. As Nat had said last night, when Steve had been too distracted to really let it sink in: _We’re all we’ve got now._

Time for him to put on his Captain hat and figure out what needed to be done.

 

~~~

 

“It’s a coffee pot, JARVIS,” Tony said, face pressed to the underside of the machine. It was some monstrosity Pepper had picked up in Italy — supposedly meant to make authentic espresso — but Tony hadn’t engineered it, which meant it wasn’t nearly as efficient as possible. Damned hacks. These days, anyone with a 3-D printer and an Arduino thought they were a fucking engineer.

“But sir —”

“Hot water, JARVIS. Coffee needs hot water. I just... have to find... probably a fucking rheostat, because why should we...” Tony shifted the penlight. The guts of the machine weren’t exactly made for easy service, either. “Did she buy the extended warranty?”

“Sir —”

“Because if she did, no. It’s not even automated.” Tony propped the machine up against the side of the fridge and reached left-handed for the screwdriver he remembered stashing in the jar of cooking utensils. “No AI. Coffee pots need AIs. Or baristas, only they don’t sell baristas. Maybe at IKEA. But I don’t _want_ a barista. They scream when things explode.”

“Tony. Are you taking it apart _before_ your first cup? Because Pepper warned me about that last time.”

 _That_ wasn’t JARVIS. Not JARVIS. Not Pepper. Male voice. Tony turned towards it, only to faceplant the side of the fridge. Stupid place for a fridge. His _“Huh?”_ came out even more like a grunt than usual.

Steve came around his other side. Black tracksuit, silver piping, familiar logo. Captain America was doing modeling for the employee clothes catalog? Fucking brilliant PR. Maybe his people had mentioned that in the meeting they’d had at oh-shit-o’clock, which was the only reason Tony was up on his feet at this hour.

“Nice look. Needs shoes. OSHA regs,” Tony said as he went back to trying to use the screwdriver to push a wiring harness out of the way so he could see deeper into the machine’s guts.

“I didn’t see any shoes in my apartment, and my uniform boots seemed a little too dressy for breakfast. How’s the coffee coming?” Steve’s voice came closer to Tony’s ear on the question.

“Water heats too slow. Need to crank up the power. The preheat cycle is like six minutes.”

“Hm. Could the upgrade wait another six minutes so we could have some before you take it apart?” Steve’s hand settled on the shoulder of Tony’s screwdriving arm, gentle but clearly not going anywhere.

“If we upgrade _now_ , we’ll have coffee faster.” Tony spotted something that looked like it might be a rheostat, but it was in a bad place. He probably should’ve taken the back plate off instead, only it was plastic and prone to cracking.

“Depends on how long the upgrade takes, Tony.”

“You sound like Fury — and a giant ‘fuck you’ to him for pretending to be dead. Upgrades take as long as they take.” Then Tony stopped and looked over at Steve. Upgrades. Fury. Fury upgraded to _werewolf_. “Oh, shit. Is Fury a werewolf now? Because no. Just, no.”

As if Tony weren’t freaked out enough by the idea, Steve had to go and look scared, then contemplate the answer for a few seconds. “No, pretty sure that’s impossible. Nick wouldn’t have seemed so surprised to see Bucky in wolf form, and besides, Bucky would have said.”

“Fury didn’t bite _Bucky_ , did he? Because if Bucky’s gonna turn into another Fury, I might have to send you two to the Malibu house.”

Steve’s not-amused face made an appearance, the line of his mouth flat and one eyebrow cocked up slightly. “You _know_ that’s not how it works. Coffee, Stark. I’ll start on food.” He walked behind Tony to open the fridge and poke his nose inside.

Before Tony could do more than sigh, JARVIS interrupted, “The spare coffeemaker is in the far left bottom cupboard, sir.”

“Aha. See?” Tony poked Steve’s arm with the screwdriver, then dropped the overpriced machine. “Upgrades _and_ coffee.”

“ _That’s_ what I’m talking about. What do you want in your omelet? And don’t say just cheese.” Steve reappeared from out of the depths of the fridge with a dozen eggs and some vegetables in his hands.

“Coffee.” Tony abandoned the flashlight on the counter, put the screwdriver back in the jar, then went for the backup machine. Coffee was the whole point of this, right?

Shaking his head, Steve huffed a laugh as he set things down and grabbed a cutting board. “Why are you even up this early?”

“Up late. Not up early. Naps don’t count, Pep says.” Tony pulled out the coffeemaker and thumped it onto the counter, then frowned down at the contents of the cupboard. “Is that a waffle iron? I own a waffle iron?”

“It is, sir,” JARVIS said.

“Huh. Waffles.” Tony took out the waffle iron, just in case he could coax Steve into making waffles, too. “PR meeting. London team. Stupid locals are always impressed by the accents. Waffles?”

“I’m not so good at baking, and protein is more important than sugar.”

“Wrong!” Tony slid the waffle iron over towards Steve, then brought the coffee pot to the sink in the kitchen island. It needed a quick rinse to get the dust off. “Which of us is the scientist here? Me. Besides, it’s a waffle iron. Put stuff in, waffles come out.”

“Good try. Find me a recipe, or a ready-made mix — those exist, right? — and I’ll see what I can do. But you’re also eating an omelet.” Steve tried to give Tony his Captain face.

Tony forgot about the coffee pot and slapped his pockets until he found his StarkPhone. “Wait. Wait, do that.” He opened the camera app, focused through the clear screen, and snapped a shot of Steve. “See? Even gay-Cap can be scary-as-fuck-morning-Cap.”

“Oh, my God, Tony. Stop.” A momentary look of wide-eyed horror crossed Steve’s face before it was replaced with a deep frown. “Don’t you dare twitter-gram that. Not with that caption. It’s not even accurate.” Steve reached for the phone, but Tony was too quick. He slipped around the island and grinned.

“What the hell is twitter-gram?” he asked, trying to think of how best to use the pic. Then he remembered that he paid people for that sort of shit. He attached it to an email and started poking through his address book to find his NY PR rep.

“I don’t know, the online thing...” Steve was rolling his eyes hard at Tony, who refused to be moved. “The, what is it, instagram? That’s something, right? Just please don’t say I’m gay, Tony. Come on. Enough’s enough.”

“No. Wrong. Because ‘gay’ means ‘has people who will attest to you-not-being-a-traitor’. We have an entire PR machine at our disposal now, and they’re thrilled to have you. You” — Tony turned and pointed at Steve — “are trending _everywhere_.”

Steve’s eyes were so huge it was comical. “Shit. Tony, that doesn’t even make sense. Being gay doesn’t mean — wouldn’t mean — that I suddenly wasn’t guilty of treason. Which I’m not.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense. It’s PR, not physics.” Tony turned away, spotted the coffee maker, then remembered what he was doing. He brought the whole thing to the sink and turned on the water. “Anyone who attacks you is going to get an army of pansexual college kids and furious drag queens and really, really bloodthirsty equal rights lawyers all over them. And that’s terrifying. I’ve been to those parties.”

Tony couldn’t decide if Steve picked the biggest knife out of the knife block to make him nervous or if it really was the best one to chop vegetables with. “But it’s not even remotely... Well, maybe _remotely_... but _nothing happened_ yesterday. Except that I got my best friend back. Well, sort of back. On his way back. And no longer trying to kill me.”

None of that actually made sense, so Tony ignored it. Instead, he ripped a handful of paper towels off the roll so he could dust the parts that were critical. He didn’t give a damn about the housing or handle or anything like that. “No press for a couple of days. They said we have to generate buzz and interest and stuff.”

“Interest about _what?_ Is everyone just going to ignore what we did to D.C.? And what about Nat? Come _on,_ Tony. There are actual important things to pay attention to, not whether I’m in love with my best friend.” The last word hadn’t even quite made it out of Steve’s mouth before he’d snapped it shut and continued chopping vegetables with a vengeance.

“Look, Nat dumped _every single file_ onto the internet. She’s the new Snowden. She’d be so deep under the CIA or Pentagon getting interrogated or something if not for the fact that _everyone_ is freaking the fuck out. Compared to the intel leak, your sexual habits are a welcome diversion.” Tony blinked a couple of times. “Not for everyone. I mean, you’re also going to hell because God hates gays or something. But everyone _else_ loves you and wants to have your babies or something. And by the way, a whole bunch of churches are backpedaling on that God-hate thing, because Captain America can do no wrong.”

The frown lines between Steve’s eyes as he paused in his chopping were adorably deep. The poor guy. Tony almost felt sorry for him as he tried to catch up. “If the idea of me being gay can change people’s minds about their homophobic beliefs, that’s... great. Crazy, but great.” He shook his head and turned his focus back to the cutting board. “But I’m worried about Nat. I’d rather there was something I could do to keep her safe in the realm of public opinion. She’s so exposed right now.”

“She’s _here_ ,” Tony corrected. “JARVIS! Where’s Natasha?”

“I have no idea, sir,” JARVIS answered.

Adrenaline hit Tony’s already-stressed system. “What? You have no what?”

“Agent Romanoff requested I not track her whereabouts, so long as she is not in a secure section of the Tower.”

Tony put the carafe down so he didn’t drop it and stared up at the ceiling. “And you _agreed?_ ”

“Yes, sir. Her request was within privacy protocols you outlined.”

“Jesus. Fucking hell. Cap, rogue assassin on the loose,” Tony said, hoping Steve would do something about this madness.

“Call her. See where she is.” He had moved on to cracking eggs into a bowl as if there wasn’t an emergency. He looked up for a second to add, “She probably kept her phone. I think I remember the number.”

“JARVIS. Do it.”

While JARVIS and Steve discussed phone numbers, Tony went back to prepping the coffee pot on the theory that coffee would help dealing with a wandering assassin. Natasha’s answer was in Russian, which was probably a bad sign.

“I would prefer not to translate that, Captain,” JARVIS said. Yep. Definitely a bad sign.

“JARVIS?” Natasha’s voice lost its hard, bloodthirsty edge. “Steve?”

“Hey, Nat. Sorry to bother you. Tony got worried when JARVIS didn’t know where you were. You all right?” Steve did that thing of looking up at the ceiling, where the voices were coming from. Tony caught himself doing it too and stopped, because he knew better. He did. Really.

“Fine. Did you need something?”

“I... Are you in the Tower?” Steve looked over at Tony questioningly and mouthed, “Why are we calling her again?”

Tony blinked. How the hell was _he_ supposed to know?

In an ominous sort of voice, Natasha said, “I’m. In. Bed.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Nat. Go back to sleep. Find me later? Or... tell JARVIS to page me? I don’t know where my phone got to.” Only Captain America could look so sheepish and contrite.

She made a sound like a lazy cat debating taking another bite out of a tasty antelope. “Call me if we’re under attack.” A faint _click_ signaled her hanging up.

Tony pointed the full carafe at Steve. “You did that. Not me,” he said before he poured the water into the reservoir.

“I did it because of the panic in your eyes, but yes. I’ll take the fall for that. _If_ you stop feeding your PR machine lies.” Steve’s eyebrows were at his hairline but his expression was serious.

“Okay, one, PR and ‘lies’ go hand in hand, like coffee and everything. Two, it’s not ‘lies’. Like I said, you don’t have to be in the closet anymore.”

“I was never...” Steve glanced down while turning the skillet to spread the eggs around, then looked back up at Tony to ask, “What did you tell them? Do you honestly think I’m gay?”

“Of course not. It’s all over my dad’s files, you and Agent Carter.” He went to the grinder and started scooping coffee beans into the hopper without bothering to measure. “She wasn’t the type to just be your beard, unless I’m missing something. Right?”

“My _what?_ ” Steve really just looked like a puppy dog sometimes. An idiot dog, but a sweet one.

“Beard. Your, y’know, fake girlfriend to prove ‘hey, I’m really not gay after all’.” He shook his head and pressed the button to start the grinding. More loudly, he said, “It’s obvious you’re bi or pan or something.”

“Bi...sexual? That’s a thing? What’s the difference?” Steve knocked his spatula against the pan then looked up again.

“Bi is you like whatever you are and whatever... you’re not. Pan is you don’t give a damn about ‘men’ or ‘women’ but also include... y’know. Everyone.” Tony slid the catch basket out of the grinder and inhaled carefully. He wanted the scent, not to snort coffee grounds, which had happened too many times in his lifetime already.

“Okay?” Everything about Steve looked as though he was not actually okay. He turned away to retrieve the vegetables and dumped half of them in the skillet. This time he didn’t look up from what he was doing to ask, “Are you saying it like that because of Bucky being a werewolf?”

“I’m — I’m not sure _anyone_ defines ‘pansexual’ to include werewolves. I think it’s more for people who don’t enforce a binary gender system. But hey. Sure.” Tony grinned encouragingly at Steve, then poured the grinds into the gold mesh filter basket. “Werewolves.”

“Oh. Okay.” Steve was quiet for a few moments as he grated cheese into the pan and folded the omelet. When he spoke again, his voice was a lot quieter. “Why did you say ‘obvious’?”

Obvious? Tony had said obvious? He frowned and willed the coffee to brew faster — and then remembered he actually had to flip the switch. Primitive machine. “Oh. You and your werewolf?”

Was Steve blushing? His cheeks looked decidedly pinkish. “You said it was obvious I was bi or pan. If it’s just because we were on the couch together yesterday, that wasn’t...” He shook his head, which suddenly disappeared behind a cabinet door as he retrieved a plate.

“It’s not that. I can’t count how many times I’ve been naked or almost naked on all sorts of furniture with people I didn’t even know.” Tony snorted and eyed the coffee maker, wondering if he could take steps to speed this one up, too. Two fast machines equalled twice the coffee, after all. “It’s how you look at him.”

The omelet almost didn’t make it onto the plate, because Steve tried to give himself whiplash looking up at Tony, his expression shocked. Then he looked back down at the plate, and Tony was sure Steve’s ears were turning red. “Here. Eat.” He handed over the omelet and turned away to start cracking more eggs.

“Wait. Wait, whoa. Are you _not_ in love with Barnes?” Tony asked incredulously. “Because I’m not wrong here. I’m _never_ wrong. Sex and engineering — two things I’m _never_ wrong about.”

“There’s no sex involved, Stark. Eat your damned omelet.”

 _“Aha!”_ Tony got a fork from the drawer and pointed at Steve with it. “That’s the problem. Sexual frustration. Go tell him to take off his fur and, y’know. There should be lube and condoms in all the bathrooms. Though, maybe you don’t need the condoms? Infection-resistant and all.”

The egg in Steve’s hand crashed into the edge of the bowl so hard it tipped the contents all over the counter. “ _Shit._ ” He reached for a sponge to clean up the mess, then paused to speak quietly. “Dammit, Tony. Stop. You’re _not helping._ ”

Tony blinked, watching as Steve started to mop up the spilled egg — never an easy task. He finally ended up pushing it all off the edge of the counter and into a wad of paper towels. Through it all, Tony ate what proved to be a top-notch omelet, stopping only when the coffee pot was done, so he could refill the mug he’d brought down from his office.

It wasn’t until Steve had rinsed off the counter and gone back for more eggs that Tony asked, “Are you _not_ in love with Barnes?”

“I...” Keeping himself half-turned away from Tony, Steve started cracking eggs again before he answered. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t really matter. He’s my _best friend,_ Tony.”

“So? Pepper’s _my_ best friend, though by like a nanometer, only because I’ve known Rhodey longer.”

Still not looking up from his work, Steve said, “ _And_ he’s been used by HYDRA for decades like a god damned _toy_ that they could press reset on and throw in the freezer and save for later. Not to mention the whole werewolf thing.”

 _Shit._ Tony felt a pang of disappointment, and he quickly looked down to avoid any chance of meeting Steve’s eyes if he turned around. _The whole werewolf thing_. Yeah, sure, that was definitely a _thing_ , but... well, Tony thought Steve wasn’t the type to let something like that get in the way. It seemed awfully prejudiced.

Then again, Bucky had tried to kill him yesterday. And ‘the werewolf thing’ was a hell of a lot bigger than, say, if they were on opposite political sides or from two different religions or something. But damnit, it wasn’t _right_. Hell, Pepper had stood by Tony through a lot worse things than being a werewolf.

After a few moments of whisking eggs a lot harder than they needed, Steve turned to Tony and said, “At least he didn’t _know_ he was HYDRA...”

“Kind of obvious there. Otherwise, you would’ve brought him back in cuffs and had JARVIS working on deprogramming him or something.” Tony dropped the fork and went to top off his coffee. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Pour me some of that before you drink it all. And then tell me how we deprogram him from thinking he was on the side of good. Or... Shit. Do we just let him think that? He’s sure he’s been doing things I’d be proud of, Tony. It...” Steve shook his head, turning to pour the eggs into the hot pan.

“JARVIS. Get on it. Figure out this whole deprogramming thing,” Tony ordered. “When you’ve got resources, send ’em to” — he hesitated, because Steve wouldn’t be all too helpful if he had an anti-werewolf bias — “to me.”

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS answered.

“CC that to me as well?” Steve’s voice was husky but strong.

Tony took a deep breath and stepped back, suddenly very conscious of how much — or how _little_ — room there was between himself and a potentially emotional super soldier. “Yeah, maybe that’s not the best idea, Cap. You should probably stay away from him until you’ve got a handle on how you feel.”

“Absolutely not.” He turned to look at Tony for the first time in at least five minutes, and it felt like a slap in the face. “Just because I can’t put a label on it doesn’t mean I don’t care about him more than —”

“Whoa. This isn’t —” Tony shook his head and backed away another step. “It just won’t help him, you having a _thing_ against werewolves.” The moment the words were out, Tony shook his head again, this time in disbelief. How the _hell_ had he found himself saying that sort of thing?

“I... What?” Steve’s persistent frown shifted towards baffled. “I don’t have a ‘thing’ against werewolves. His half-shift form is hard to take, but he tried to kill me like that, so I think I’m allowed... But I’m _fine_ with him as a wolf. He’s cuddly that way. It calms me.”

“It calms you?” Tony demanded incredulously. There wasn’t enough caffeine in his bloodstream to make him shut his mouth. “He’s not a _puppy_ , Rogers! That half-shift form may be ‘hard to take’, but it’s _who he is_.”

“I _know_ who he is, Stark!” Steve took one menacing step toward Tony, then stood still, his hand fisted tightly around a spatula. “I’ve known him since we were kids! Of course I know he’s the same person in all those forms, ’cause I can _see_ him in the wolf. But right now, until I can get over the knee-jerk reaction, the wolf-man is the one that wanted me dead. Give me at least a _day_ to work through that, huh? It’s not like I’m gonna fuck him with his fur on, anyway.” He turned back to the stove and muttered, _“Shit,”_ at the eggs in the pan, then moved them off the burner.

“No. No, you don’t get a day for yourself. _He’s_ the one who needs a day or a week or the rest of his fucking life to recover from whatever happened to turn him against everything he once believed,” Tony snapped. “If you’re gonna be in love with him one second, then pull away because he’s a werewolf — _no matter what shape he’s in_ — then you’re just going to fuck things up even worse.”

Steve looked at Tony like he was deciding which wall to punch him through, but then he took a breath and said, “ _He’s_ still worried he’s gonna bite me, Tony. I don’t even know if it’s possible to be with a werewolf and not become one. Give me a _fucking_ break.” He surged forward, but only to brush past Tony in order to leave.

Tony didn’t breathe until Steve was in the elevator and leaving the floor. Only then did he exhale and lean against the kitchen island, closing his eyes for a few seconds. That had gone poorly, to say the least. ‘Fucking disaster’ might be more honest.

Pepper would’ve been so much better at this. She had a handle on the whole relationship thing — to the point where Tony was tempted to summon her back. But no, not until after things were safe. Well, _safer_. Fixing Captain America’s love life took second priority to making sure HYDRA wasn’t going to kill everyone.

Speaking of which... “JARVIS.”

“Sir?”

“Send details on the Serenity Plan to the team’s tablets in their rooms, then notify them.”

“Very good, sir. Does that include Sam?”

Tony blinked a couple of times. “Wilson? You call him Sam?”

“He requested I not stand on formality, sir.”

“Huh. Yeah, okay. Include him. I think he’s on our side.”

“And Sergeant Barnes?”

Tony opened his mouth to say no, because he didn’t need HYDRA’s pet werewolf assassin having the details of their security... but fuck it. Prejudiced or not, Steve had brought Bucky into the fold, and maybe a show of trust would go a long way towards helping him recover. And if they could get an honest-to-god werewolf assassin on their side...

“Yeah. Yeah, send it to Barnes, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

In the elevator, Steve realized that he’d shot himself in the foot. He hadn’t actually gotten breakfast or coffee, and though his own kitchen was stocked, apparently his stove didn’t work. And he wasn’t about to risk waking Bucky to use _his_ kitchen. So since he couldn’t feed his hunger, he settled upon the next best thing: taking care of his seething anger.

He asked JARVIS about finding a gym, then spent the next forty-five minutes assaulting a heavy bag until he stopped wanting to smash Tony’s face. Of course, then he had to spend another forty-five minutes working out his anger at himself. He’d let that conversation get out of hand: he hadn’t thought things through enough to talk them out with Tony, of all people. He hadn’t taken it well when Tony hadn’t heard what he was saying. And he hadn’t meant to say he wanted to be with Bucky — because that was absurd, not to mention unattainable.

He loved Bucky. They were as close as brothers — closer, because they’d gone through the war together. Since his folks died, there hadn’t been anyone Steve had cared for more. Peggy was a close second, but he didn’t have as much shared history with her. And so much of her life had been lived without Steve that... Yeah.

Bucky had been the most important person to him for so long. The person he’d mourned hardest. And when Steve had gotten him back again, everything had changed.

But by defending his own inability to process what had happened in the past day, he realized he needed to back off trying to fix Bucky. Because Stark had been right about one thing: It would take Bucky a long time to be okay.

Even with all of that in mind, once he was showered and dressed in another Stark Industries track suit, the only thing Steve wanted was to see Bucky. Make sure he was all right.

“JARVIS? Can you tell if Bucky’s awake yet?”

“Yes, Captain. He was moving about his apartment just a short time ago.”

“Would you mind asking him if it would be okay if I came over?” He felt like he was calling up Bucky’s mom to see if he could play.

“I shall, Captain.” Then JARVIS went silent for seconds that stretched into minutes — long enough that Steve worried Bucky had said no. He lay down on the bed and looked at the ceiling, hoping he didn’t need to go back to the gym. Finally, JARVIS said, “I believe he is in agreement, Captain.”

JARVIS's choice of words clued Steve in to the reason for the delay. “He’s in wolf form, isn’t he?” Relief flooded Steve and he found himself grinning at the idea of JARVIS trying to decipher Bucky’s non-answer.

“Yes, Captain.”

“All right. Is access to his rooms going to be an issue?” If Bucky didn’t have hands or voice to admit Steve...

“No, Captain. I have full electronic control over his door locks. Current status is unlocked.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.” Steve knew that JARVIS wasn’t a person, per se, but there were few people who deserved the amount of gratitude that the team, and the Avengers — hell, most of the _country_ — owed that computer. He stood up to leave, then paused to ask yet another favor. “One more thing: Do you think you could do some digging in HYDRA’s files to see if you can find anything on Bucky? He said they did a bunch of tests on him. He might appreciate seeing those results.”

“Of course, Captain. I’ll add it to my research queue.”

“Thanks again, JARVIS. I appreciate it.” Steve refrained from saying something to the effect of liking the creation a hell of a lot more than the creator right now, and left his room to walk the short distance to Bucky’s door.

He knocked as a warning, then let himself in. He didn’t know what he expected to hear once he was inside, but it was _not_ loud crunching and crackling. Frowning, Steve closed the door and followed the sound to the kitchen, where he spotted Bucky’s tail twitching back and forth, as if he were lying on the floor beyond the small kitchen island.

“Bucky?” Steve circled the island —

And stopped in his tracks when Bucky lifted his head, muzzle buried in a torn-open box of Frosted Flakes. Bits of sugar and corn flakes fell out of the box, adding another layer to his already covered forelegs. Bright blue eyes blinked at Steve over the box.

_Jesus._

Steve wasn’t ready for this level of adorable. Trying not to melt into the floor with a wave of affection pulling him under, he sank to his knees in front of Bucky. He slowly reached out to pull the box off Bucky’s face, trying to keep what little cereal was left inside from spilling onto the floor, but it was useless. Everything was covered in crumbs that flew when Bucky sneezed three times in quick succession.

“Hey, you. I take it you’re hungry. How about something more substantial? I can cook us breakfast...” He thought about the omelet he’d left unfinished upstairs, and his stomach growled.

Bucky’s tail wagged, and he ducked his head, scrubbing at his face with his furry right foreleg. More Frosted Flakes hit the floor, and he promptly crunched down on them.

_Right._

That was so much sugar. Steve needed to get protein into Bucky ASAP, because one, he probably hadn’t eaten in days, and two, he was skittery enough without being on a sugar high. Steve cringed at the idea of a huge, sharp-clawed Bucky running around the apartment. “Okay. Hopefully there’s bacon or something.” He stood and set the torn up cereal box on the counter as he looked around the kitchen.

Apparently, Bucky had been through the cabinets — in his hybrid werewolf form most likely, judging by the mess. There were overturned boxes and cans on the shelves and counter. He’d ripped open a box of mac and cheese, scattering cheese powder onto the stovetop.

Ominously, while sorting through the debris on the counter, Steve found the shredded wrapper from a package of Oreo cookies, licked clean of even the crumbs.

“Oh, come on, Buck. Do you just live on sugar? You’re gonna crash so hard...” Steve opened the icebox and noticed it was stocked with much the same food as the one upstairs. Omelets again, then. He took out a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and a block of cheese, then reached in again to grab tomatoes, peppers, and broccoli.

Bucky stood up, tipped his head, and took hold of the Frosted Flakes box in his teeth. There was no way for a werewolf of his size to be subtle, but he gave it an admirable attempt as he tried to quietly pull the box off the counter.

Just barely keeping a straight face, Steve reached out and slapped his hand down on the torn cardboard, holding it in place. “No. Come on, Buck. That’s enough. Gimme two minutes and there will be bacon and toast, at least.”

Bucky’s huff of exasperation came out in a puff of sugary cereal dust. He flopped back down on the kitchen floor and went back to scrubbing at his whitened muzzle.

Steve turned away so Bucky wouldn’t see him smiling. Then he started three skillets heating on the stove, and filled the biggest one with strips of bacon before chopping vegetables to sauté in another, and considering how many eggs to whisk up and pour into the third. “When was the last time you ate?”

Bucky whined. When Steve looked over, he caught Bucky’s gaze fixed on the Frosted Flakes box.

“Shit. Okay, wait. Don’t touch that.” Steve cast around for something, and his eyes fell on the last few strips of bacon that didn’t fit in the pan. Would Bucky eat them raw? Was that okay? Steve couldn’t decide if he felt weird about that or not. On one hand, feeding raw meat to your best friend should be a no-no, but on the other, he was a damned _wolf._ And Tony was right that Steve couldn’t really afford to be squeamish about that.

“Here, Buck. Do you want this? I dunno what you’re used to eating...” He picked up the thin stack of raw bacon by one end and held it up.

Steve might have hesitated, but Bucky didn’t. He surged up and snatched the bacon strips out of Steve’s hand, and they were gone before he laid back down again. Tail wagging.

_Well, shit._

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Steve leaned down to scratch Bucky’s ears before he washed his hands and went back to chopping vegetables. They went into a pan a minute later, though the stalks of the broccoli landed on the floor to keep Bucky busy. Steve decided to start with one four-egg omelet and cut it in half for them to share, then make another after he’d taken the edge off his own hunger. He also pulled some of the bacon from the pan before it was done so he could drop a few small pieces to tide Bucky over as he assembled the omelet. When he opened the block of cheese to grate it onto the eggs, Bucky whined again, and Steve couldn’t help but throw a chunk of it to the ‘starving’ werewolf.

His stomach was making obscene noises by the time he’d made and dished out breakfast for the two of them. Except then there was the awkward moment where he’d been cooking for himself and his friend, but one of them was a wolf. He probably could have dispensed with the cooking process altogether, and Bucky would have been fine. Yet here he was with two plates of food and a furry canine staring up at him from the floor. So he grabbed a fork and sat down next to Bucky to eat, putting Bucky’s plate down between his front paws.

Bucky’s omelet was gone in under a minute — Steve’s a minute later. “There’s no more bacon, but I can make toast and another omelet. You in?” Steve asked, and Bucky wagged his tail in response.

 

~~~

 

“Sergeant Barnes, your security briefing is prepared.” JARVIS’ quiet voice interrupted the end of their second helping of breakfast — well, Steve’s second and Bucky’s third, if the Frosted Flakes and Oreos counted as breakfast.

 _Security briefing?_ Steve wondered what Stark could possibly want to brief Bucky about.

Bucky pushed up to all fours, then rose onto his hind legs, shifting into his skin as he did. “Ready.”

“If you’d go to the desk by the window, Sergeant, you’ll find all the relevant details on the tablet.”

Abruptly all business, Bucky abandoned the remains of breakfast and headed right for the desk. A tablet was slotted into a charging station on the corner. Bucky picked up the tablet as he sat down. He seemed to have no difficulty knowing how to swipe at the screen to access the tablet’s contents.

All curiosity, Steve said, “JARVIS? Is that confidential, or may I look at it?”

“An identical briefing awaits you on your own tablet, Captain,” JARVIS answered.

“Which is...?” It took Steve a second to remember he wasn’t in his own apartment. “On _my_ desk. Thanks, JARVIS.” He looked over at Bucky, who was immersed in the contents of the briefing, and said, “I’ll be right back, Buck.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. This isn’t enough,” he muttered.

Steve stood up, set his plate on the counter and walked over to Bucky instead of heading to his rooms to get his tablet. He furrowed his brow in concern. “What d’you mean?”

“This is based on CIA safehouse guidelines. It’s got vulnerabilities.” Bucky glanced up at Steve. “We’re _not_ safe.”

What little Steve could see on the tablet seemed to be an outline of guard rotations for the lobby of the Tower, as well as guidelines for admitting guests and employees.

A tiny shiver slid down his spine at the thought that this was what Bucky’s mission briefs looked like. In fact, if he wasn’t sitting here with Steve right now, he would have been given this exact information to go after his next target.

“Could you outline the weaknesses for Stark?”

Bucky nodded, swiping to the next screen. “Briefing or demonstration? Once I have it outlined, the system will still need to be tested. Without drills, it’s all meaningless.”

 _Right._ Assassin. A very well-trained assassin. “Let’s start with telling Tony what you see. Get dressed.”

Bucky glanced up, frowning as if worried. “I’m not done.”

Putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, Steve toned down his Captain voice and said, “Then finish while I clean up. You don’t have to have a full plan ready for implementation. Stark can help figure that out.”

“I work alone,” Bucky said a little uncertainly.

Thinking about the army Bucky had in tow when he’d attacked them on the bridge, Steve was about to call bullshit, but opted to try another tack. “You and I used to work with the Howling Commandos. Remember that?”

Frowning even more, Bucky offered Steve the tablet. “Did you want to write it up?”

“No, I just meant that’s how we usually work here. Tony and Nat and I are part of a team. Sam’s a great addition to that. As are you. If you want help, it’s there for the asking. But if you want to have a whole plan ready when you tell Stark what he’s missing, that’s fine, too. He knows his system backwards and forwards, though, so he’ll have some ideas about how to fix it the moment you start pointing out the holes.”

Still holding out the tablet, Bucky asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Frowning again, Steve kicked himself for derailing Bucky. He’d been so sure of himself moments ago — before Steve had started making things complicated. “Go back to what you were doing before I said anything. When you’re ready to explain your thoughts to Tony, we’ll go upstairs together.” He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder encouragingly.

Seemingly relieved, Bucky settled back into his reading. Steve breathed his own sigh of relief, left Bucky focused on his work, and went to clean up the mess in the kitchen. It took until his hands were in the soapy water washing dishes for it to hit him how grateful he was that Bucky was working to keep them safe, instead of coming to kill them all.


	14. Chapter 14

“Sir.”

“Yeah, JARVIS?” Tony asked as he pushed his wheeled stool from his soldering station to the terminal desk in the middle of the workshop. One of the lobby cameras had an intermittent glitch in its feed. Because its field of view had double-coverage from other cameras, Tony hadn’t bothered replacing or repairing it. The current situation bumped it back up his priority list.

“Agent Romanoff requests entry.”

Startled, Tony looked up and saw Natasha standing outside the glass door, tablet in hand. She had two guns holstered at her hips over black tracksuit pants. It should have looked ridiculous. Tony knew better.

“Let her in,” he said, glad he hadn’t started drinking despite the rule that said it wasn’t ‘too early’ if he hadn’t yet been to sleep.

And because he was occasionally sensible, he got up so he could refill his coffee mug. Unlike the machines in the kitchen, Tony _had_ upgraded his workshop machine to automatically produce fresh coffee every forty-five minutes for as long as he was in the workshop.

As the door whooshed open, Tony said, “Morning. Coffee?”

“We need to talk about this security plan,” she answered.

Tony frowned, taking a sniff of the coffee to make certain no dangerous chemicals had accidentally ended up in the water line. That had happened only once, but once was enough. “What’s wrong with it? The director of our security division had a hand in it.”

Natasha’s smile was barely-there. “I have a list.”

 _Shit._ Tony used his coffee mug to gesture at the console, where there were a couple of extra stools for guests. “Have a seat... _Shit_.” This time, he said it out loud. Cap and the werewolf, both of them looking more human than furry, were heading right for the workshop door. Apparently, they were doing this now. _Shoulda known,_ Tony thought as he sat back down at the console. “JARVIS, invite Wilson to join us. And leave the workshop door unlocked.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Something going on?”

In answer, Tony pointed at the door, just as it slid open to admit the two old guys. “Coffee’s there,” he told them. “Grab a couple mugs and have a seat.”

Steve entered in full-on Captain mode: “Tony, we have some suggestions —”

“You and everyone else,” Tony said, gesturing to Natasha. “JARVIS, Tower Security Plan and Serenity Plan. Open ’em up. Full access.”

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS said as the holo-displays over the console came to life. “And Sam reports that he will be there shortly.”

Through the holo-image of the Tower blueprints, Tony saw Steve lean close to Barnes and murmur something that sounded like, “Go on, Buck.”

Surreptitiously, Tony watched over the rim of his coffee cup, wondering just how badly Relic Number Two would handle the holo-displays... which turned out to be not badly at all, Tony noticed, as Barnes began swiping through the display so he could zoom in on the lobby.

Interesting. Two years out of the ice, and Cap was pretty good with weapons tech, but social media still got the best of him. How long had Bucky been around? And how much of that time had been spent as a human?

Natasha jumped in, and the two of them started a rapid-fire discussion in Russian — one that JARVIS would record so he could give Tony a transcript in English later. Tony glanced at Steve, who looked ready to interrupt. Before he could, Tony slid his stool over and flicked a finger at Steve’s arm to get his attention.

When their eyes met, Tony quietly asked, “Hey. Everything okay?” He had a vague, sleepy memory of Steve being pissed off a few hours ago.

Steve frowned down at him for a moment, then his expression softened a bit. “You’re an asshole when you haven’t had your coffee yet. And I’m a fool to get into deep discussions before I’ve eaten. But yeah. Things are okay.” He slid his hands into his pockets with a glimmer of a smile, then looked back over at the twin assassins.

“Right. Okay,” Tony said with a grin, assuming that meant everything was fine. Or maybe Steve and Bucky had found time for a super soldier quickie some time between then and now. “So, ah, you’ll talk to him for me, right?”

The frown was back with a vengeance. “About what?” Steve had stopped keeping his volume down, and the question came out sharp.

“Whoa. Hey,” Tony said, holding up one hand and his coffee mug. The two assassins looked over, then went back to their discussion. “Easy, Cap. That arm of his, that’s all. It’s about a million years beyond anything my biomed division is making. There are a lot of people” — a lightbulb went off, just in time, and he grinned — “a lot of _veterans_ who could use that sort of tech.”

“Oh.” Tracking the movement of Bucky’s left arm, Steve’s eyes went sort of puppy dog for a moment, and when he looked back at Tony, he seemed worried, his voice almost a whisper. “I dunno how much testing he can take. He seems to have been handled by doctors a _lot._ And the memory wipes...” He shook his head and looked genuinely distressed.

“Talk to him, okay? No rush, no pressure, but even just a peek at the inner workings...” Tony’s fingers twitched on the mug. He’d never been very good at looking without touching.

“Maybe, once I’m sure he’s comfortable with me touching it...”

“You go work on that,” Tony advised, wondering —

 _Oh, fuck._ Tony’s brain finally caught up with itself from a few hours earlier, and he remembered the giant furry elephant in the room: Steve’s anti-werewolf prejudice. Shit.

He backpedaled, literally and figuratively, saying, “Yup, no rush,” as he pushed the stool back around the console. Resolutely, he turned his attention to watching Bucky and Natasha through the holo-display. Other than the hair in need of a trim and liberal use of a comb, Bucky wasn’t bad looking at all. Hell, if Steve didn’t get over himself, maybe Tony could seduce his way to a closer look at that arm. Pepper would —

No. No, Pepper would _not_ approve. What the hell?

“I need more coffee,” he announced, and retreated to the coffee pot, only to find it _hadn’t_ refilled. He stabbed the manual brew button, only to have it light up in ominous red.

“Sir,” JARVIS said through the speakers over the counter. “You have reached your fifty-hour safety limit.”

“Override. National security emergency, remember?”

“Tony, no.” Steve walked over, looking irritatingly concerned. “JARVIS? What’s SOP in this situation?”

“It would be best if Mr. Stark were sent to sleep,” JARVIS answered.

“Traitor!” Tony accused. “We’re in the middle of a crisis here.”

“Right. Okay. Guys?” Steve turned back to Nat and Bucky, raising his voice to cut into their conversation. They paused their discussion and looked over. “Can we do a quick rundown for Tony so he can set the wheels in motion and then get some rest?”

Tony cringed at the thought of having to actually _process_ security upgrades from those two. “Hey, no need. Carte blanche to do whatever you want except repaint and replace flooring. Carry on, men. Women. Wolves. Whatever.” Sleep was definitely a better option than enduring that sort of thing.

“All right. Then go on and get some sleep. We’ll take care of things.” Steve reached over and took hold of Tony’s wrist — which was weird because he didn’t need to be led upstairs —- and gently tugged the coffee mug out of his hand. Disappointing, but he could get more coffee later, after some sleep.

After Steve put the coffee mug down, he gave Tony a push  toward the door. Conveniently, it was open so Sam could walk in. He gave Tony a strange look as they passed.

“Good _night,_ Tony,” Steve said, pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah. Going.”

“Is he a zombie? ’Cause if you’re gonna tell me zombies are real, I quit,” Sam said.

If Steve answered, it was lost under the gentle _whoosh_ of the door closing behind Tony. He stopped, thinking he should probably get food that wasn’t coffee. Or he could get _more_ coffee before food, because Pepper had rules about the his eating habits. Sure, they were rules he broke more than followed —

“Sir.” JARVIS’ voice cut in on Tony’s thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“The elevator is waiting.”

Sure enough, the elevator doors were open, lights glowing on the unfinished interior. Tony couldn’t remember telling JARVIS to get the elevator, but whatever. So he got in and asked, “Where we going?”

“You’re going to bed, sir. Remember?”

“No. But it’s probably a good idea, huh?”

“Indeed.”

“Carry on, then.”

“Very good, sir.”

 

~~~

 

By that afternoon, Steve and the others had not only identified holes in Tony’s security but had also arranged a schedule of upgrades, changes, and security drills, starting that night. It was a fast timeline, but JARVIS assured them that it wasn’t unrealistic.

As a team, they had complementary areas of expertise. Natasha knew subterfuge. Sam’s concern was safe rooms and emergency services. Steve knew how he would’ve planned a small tactical assault. And Bucky... It was a little chilling to hear how Bucky would have infiltrated the building to kill any given target without detection, but they had to worry about that sort of thing. Better to have an assassin of Bucky’s caliber on their side than still in enemy hands.

But, as odd as it was to say, Bucky was in his element during the meeting and the four of them worked well together —- with JARVIS, of course. It felt good. Familiar. Like old times in the command center with Peggy and the Howling Commandos. Except then they’d been crowded around a map table planning strikes on HYDRA. Still, the pang of missing his old team hit him in the gut.

Once they’d notified Tony’s security team and started implementing their plans, Steve thanked JARVIS and dismissed the meeting. “Good work, team. We’ll all be much safer now.”

“Yeah, maybe you do, but I’m still worried my ceiling’s going to come down,” Sam said, heading for a workbench along the side wall. The drawers were bright red and silver, like toolboxes built into the bench. “Time for me to go grab a sandwich or something and play handyman.”

“Lunch sounds good.” Natasha looked right at Steve. “Come on, Cap. My kitchen’s stocked.”

“Right with you, Nat.”

Steve was distracted with being annoyed at Tony. He’d given the new guy the apartment that was in pieces, which seemed inhospitable. Steve thought about offering to switch with Sam, given how little time he seemed to spend in his own place, but it was possible that Nat’s was also in bad shape. And though he was aware of how ‘old-school’ it was, he couldn’t help but want to offer comfort to the lady first.

He looked over at Bucky, who was lurking back away from everyone, eyeing the door as if looking for a chance to escape. Walking over, he leaned in and murmured, “You okay, Buck?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. You’ll be safer now.”

Warmth flowed through Steve, and he cupped his hand around Bucky’s nape. “You too, pal, which makes me feel better.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but the wary edge in his expression softened. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Anything you say, pal.” Steve smiled at Bucky. “You did great just now. Felt like old times.”

“Did it?” Bucky frowned, head tipped to the side curiously.

_Shit._

That hurt. The possibility that Bucky actually didn’t remember their time together in the war crushed Steve. It felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself, making it hard to breathe. “Yeah, Buck. Time we spent in the command center planning missions with the Howling Commandos, Peggy telling us we were ridiculous but giving the nod anyway, Howard coming up with weapons to use...” He hoped against hope he could jog Bucky’s memory, but having to retell stories to someone who was there hurt more than he’d expected.

“Howard?” Bucky’s faint smile reappeared. “Yeah. Yeah, you were always with Peggy and the brass.”

That glimmer of recognition eased the pain in Steve’s chest enough for him to say, “I was the Captain. Someone had to play nice so they’d give us the leeway we needed to carry out all that mayhem.”

Bucky laughed softly, then looked past Steve. “Your new girl’s waiting for you.”

Steve turned around and saw Nat by the door, watching impassively. He looked back at Bucky and said, “She’s not my girl, Bucky. She’s Nat.” Steve felt as though that should explain things fully.

Bucky dropped his voice, saying, “She wants to be alone with you, Steve.”

Shifting to block Bucky’s view of her, Steve met Bucky’s eyes, proud of not being embarrassed by this conversation. He knew exactly where he stood with Natasha. “She’s my _friend._ We went through hell together this week, and it’s past time for a check-in. But I’ll come find you when we’re done, all right?”

Bucky shook his head with a disappointed sigh. “You look like _that_ , and you’re still shit with dames.” He slipped past Steve and went for the door. Nat stepped out of his way. Steve was too baffled to stop him or call after him.

He turned his puzzled expression on Nat, then walked slowly toward her. “Sorry. I’m ready. Your place?” Hearing himself say it that way made his neck feel hot. He cursed Bucky silently for making him remember the kiss he’d shared with Nat.

“It’s not a problem, is it?” she asked, frowning. “We can talk in the penthouse, if he’d feel better that way.”

“Ah... I think he’s fine. I dunno that it matters. Wherever you’re comfortable.” In the span to two minutes, two of his friends had each assumed he was dating the other. Was this what being... not straight was like? Steve shrugged, uncomfortable with so much focus on him. “You two worked well together today...”

She glanced over at the hallway. Steve followed her gaze in time to see Bucky get into the elevator with Sam, who was carrying a small toolbox in one hand. The two of them seemed to be chatting comfortably. That was a good thing. Steve had to say it to himself twice before the stabbing in his chest went away.

“Okay,” Natasha said, drawing the word out knowingly, as if she could read his thoughts. She led him out into the hall, but instead of going for the elevator, she opened a side door into a well-lit concrete stairwell.

Steve winced as he followed her down the stairs, trying again to for a distraction from speculation about Bucky. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped — at least, not for him. “Is it because he was human?”

“That helped.” She trailed one hand down the railing, gripping only at the bottom of the stairs so she could swing around and continue down the next flight. “How much history do you know? Recent, that is. Cold War and after.”

Frowning at the non sequitur, Steve responded, “I caught up on the broad strokes. Why?”

“Because the same people trained us both. Me and Bucky.” She looked up at Steve. “It was almost twenty years ago. I didn’t even put it together, that the Winter Soldier was the... werewolf.”

Steve had only the vaguest notion of Nat’s childhood — it hadn’t seemed relevant to their work together, and she’d never once mentioned it. He’d also only read what little there was in Fury’s files about her training, but working with her closely this last couple weeks had him marveling at how good it must have been. But then to hear this from her... This was beyond disturbing. Twenty years ago, she’d been just ten. “Why... How did you meet a werewolf?”

She stopped at the next landing and leaned against the rail, looking down the dizzying shaft that reached all the way to the ground floor. “At first, I thought he was just a wolf. It was training. That was how they taught us to show no fear.”

_What?_

“That’s...” That was horrifying. The fact that Bucky had been used to scare Nat to death made Steve’s head spin.

“Effective,” Nat finished bluntly. She turned her back to the railing, hands to either side of her hips, and looked up into Steve’s eyes. “A few years later, it was his other form.”

“Nat...” Steve stepped close and reached out to touch her arm, because he couldn’t say anything else. His throat was stopped up.

“I thought they’d given him the metal arm to make the sight that much more intimidating. I never realized it was the same arm as the Winter Soldier.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve...” He knew it was absurd to think that going back for Bucky would have kept all this from happening, because it most likely would have killed him. Though at this point, it was possible that might have done less damage to everyone, including Bucky. He took her hand and forced himself to look into her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

She squeezed his hand and shook her head. “It was a long time ago. But we _both_ need to remember that it wasn’t him. It was what they did to him — what they made him do.”

“I know. I know. It just hurts so damned much to remember that. They took my Bucky, and they emptied him out and filled him with their bullshit stories, and he did what he was told and he took what they gave him because _he had nothing left._ ” His voice was raw and shaky, and he couldn’t let go of her hand, even when she pulled him close. She got up on her toes and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders.

“We survived it,” she whispered in his ear, then turned enough to kiss him. “We both survived it, and I promise you — I _promise_ you — I can handle him being in whatever form he wants.”

Steve was torn. He didn’t want her to have to handle something that was so steeped in fear for her, and yet he wanted her to teach him how. “Jesus, Nat.” He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re so much stronger than I am.”

She laughed softly and got both her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly. “Ask me that after I’m on ice for seventy years, and the whole world’s changed. Don’t underestimate yourself, Steve. And... whatever it is you and Bucky have, it’s strong, too. You’ve got each other.”

The breath he let out at her words deflated him, and he leaned his weight against her. He was equal parts thankful and distraught listening to her. “It was, once. He’s changed so much. _They_ changed him. And I don’t know how to get him back.”

“I won’t lie to you,” she said quietly. “He’ll never be the same. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be okay.”

That hurt. It hurt to hear it, and it hurt to know it. But it was a necessary pain, one he’d work through. He squeezed Nat tight for a moment longer, then slowly pulled away, his hands on her hips. “I know. I... I’m working on being okay with that. Hell, I’m not the same either, but... It helps when I can see him inside there.”

“I know. She ran her hands down to his shoulders, then back up to rest close to his neck. “You know I’m a realist. I don’t believe in fantasies or magic. But... you love him, right?”

Somehow, it was the easiest question to answer, asked like that. “Yeah. Pretty sure I always have.”

She took a deep breath and pulled him down again, hugging him with all her strength. “He’s still the man you love,” she whispered in his ear. “When he’s at his worst, hold onto that. Don’t let him see you be afraid of him, because even at his worst, he knows it. And it hurts him.”

Steve clung to her, trying to believe he had the strength to do what she’d said. “Part of me wants to ask how you do it — how you hide your fear — but what I really want is to _not be afraid_ of him.”

“He’s a werewolf, Steve — a monster out of our worst nightmares. You’ll _always_ be a little bit afraid of him.” She rubbed her hands over his shoulders.

“Shit.” He hated this. He knew it didn’t do any good to get angry at something he couldn’t change, but that didn’t make it any easier to let go — to learn how to not miss things as they’d once been.

But over the past two years he’d gotten good at that. And for Bucky he would do anything.

“Okay. Jesus. Thanks, Nat.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back and was finally able to pull away. “I can do this. _We_ can do this.  But not without lunch.” He smiled as he caught her eye.

She hummed and took hold of his arm, then started down the next flight of stairs. “Sounds good. And if he needs to shift — for you or for him — that’s okay. I can manage.”

Nat was secretly the strongest Avenger. Steve was sure of it. “He likes the wolf. Hell, _I_ kind of like the wolf. The other form... I guess we’ll see.”


	15. Chapter 15

Lunch was much more lighthearted than the journey to it. Nat’s place was beautifully appointed and fully functioning, which was a relief. At least Stark had known better than to give her anything unfinished. She let Steve make soup and sandwiches, which they enjoyed while he regaled her with stories about pre-war Brooklyn as well as the Howling Commandos, hoping to give her images of Bucky from before he was changed. He didn’t know if it would help her to think of him as a young kid who couldn’t have been threatening if he’d tried, but it was worth a shot.

He worried that it wasn’t the best thing for him to dwell on what Bucky was like in the past, but the storytelling felt a bit cathartic — saying goodbye to his old pal so he could fully embrace the new one with the same face.

Of course, that meant the moment he left Nat’s apartment, he made his way to Bucky’s. No surprise there — everything in his life had always revolved around Bucky. It was time to address what that meant, if only in some small way, given Bucky’s state of mind. Steve knew his timing was probably awful but he couldn’t deny it anymore. And he could only hope talking things through might help Bucky come back to himself.

Nat must have seen his intention in his eyes, because when she hugged him goodbye, it was with extra warmth, as if she knew what he was in for. But her expression was devoid of pity, which helped keep him from kicking himself on the way to the door at the end of the hall.

Steve raised a hand to knock, then realized Bucky would probably be in his wolf form. A dog would usually bark at a knock, but would Bucky? As a wolf, he was vocal but muted; he’d whine but not bark.

So Steve tested the door and found it unlocked. He pushed it open as he tapped on it, calling, “Buck—” just as he heard the sound of a man laughing.

 _Not_ Bucky. _Shit._

The sound made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up, and heat bloomed across his skin, making his face itch. The sight that met him made his stomach twist, and he wished he hadn’t come — at least that he hadn’t just walked into Bucky’s place without an invitation.

Sam was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, with Bucky in wolf-form standing over him, ears perked, tail up. They were both looking Steve’s way, surprised, but Sam recovered in a heartbeat and grinned.

“Hey. Done with lunch?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll go. I was just...” It didn’t matter why Steve was there. Or that he’d told Bucky he’d come find him when lunch with Nat was over. What mattered was that he exited the situation as quickly as possible to give them whatever space they needed. And that he got out of their sight before whatever mess of emotions roiling inside him broke free.

He backed up and started to close the door again as Sam said, “Hey, no. Come on in. You mind, Bucky?”

Steve stopped still and held his breath, watching as Bucky settled down on the carpet, tail wagging. He knew that was a good sign — that Bucky had only ever wagged his tail as an affirmative response — but he couldn’t help feeling like an intruder. “I don’t want to interrupt anything...”

“Steve, c’mon,” Sam coaxed. “Pull up a piece of floor. I was just telling Bucky about pararescue training and all the stupid shit they had me do.”

Had Sam been telling Bucky stories about Riley while Steve had been talking about Bucky with Nat? Steve’s heart went out to Sam, and it pulled Steve into the room. “Was it as stupid as some of the shit we got up to, Buck?” Steve sat down a few feet from both of them and leaned back against an armchair, crossing his legs at the ankles. He still felt weird joining their conversation, but the atmosphere in the room didn’t seem to have changed much when he’d come in.

“Stupider, probably, ’cause it was institutionalized stupid,” Sam said as Bucky settled back down between them. He was big enough that his front paws brushed Steve’s legs and his tail rested against Sam’s arm. “We had to train for every environment. Scuba, parachuting _without_ wings, parachuting _into_ water, you name it. And we had survival training _and_ medical training. I think I went six solid months without sleep.”

“Jesus, Sam. That sounds insane. Yet another person who’s stronger than Captain America.” Steve smiled sheepishly at Sam.

“Stronger? Nah. Stupider, maybe.” Sam tugged on Bucky’s tail. “Then again, the three of us in one room might be too much for anyone to handle.”

Bucky huffed out a breath and let his head flop back down, mouth open just enough for his tongue to hang out. He wasn’t wagging his tail hard enough to pull it free of Sam’s grasp, but it was wagging all the same, and he pawed at Steve’s leg.

Leaning forward to reach Bucky’s head, Steve scratched his neck until he was lolling back from the touch. Having his hands in Bucky’s fur helped calm Steve as he said, “You should have met the Commandos. The six of us in a room together were trouble incarnate. You’d have loved it.”

“Yeah, I saw the exhibit.” Sam tugged Bucky’s tail again. “You’re all famous, you know. In a good way. Not in an ‘America’s Most Wanted’ way.”

Steve looked at Bucky thoughtfully. He wondered if it would be a good idea to take Bucky to the exhibit sometime, when their lives weren’t in such immediate danger. “You’ll get your due, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not why I’m doing this,” he scolded.

“I know. It wasn’t why the Commandos did, either. Or the Avengers. But the world takes notice anyway, even when we wish they wouldn’t.” Steve sighed and hoped they could all stay under the radar long enough to not get killed.

“Stark’s handling all that now. And we did a full security review, so we’re safe as we can get.” Sam tugged on Bucky’s tail. “Right?”

Bucky turned to give Sam an open-mouthed grin, then nosed insistently at Steve’s hand. He was relaxed and comfortable, and that more than anything convinced Steve that they really had done everything possible to secure the Tower, short of taking up guard duty themselves.

“Then all there is for us to do is rest and recuperate. Did you guys eat?” Steve scratched Bucky’s ears and moved to stand up. He felt antsy and wanted to do something to help. All he could think of was making sure people got fed.

“Yeah. _Somebody_ ate the pizza while it was still frozen,” Sam said, giving Bucky an accusing sort of glare. Bucky lifted his head, mouth hanging open in a wolfy grin, and wagged his tail again. He seemed smug.

“As long as it wasn’t pure sugar, I’m happy. You both staying hydrated? Need a drink, Buck?” Steve was already on his feet and headed for the kitchen.

“Okay, you’re taking the mom thing a little too far,” Sam accused. “Relax.”

Inwardly cringing, Steve managed to say, “I’m thirsty,” as he walked past the kitchen island and took a glass from a cabinet to fill at the sink. “Anyone else? Last chance...” He looked back and saw Sam watching him a little too sharply. The attention made him stay at the sink to drink his water.

“There’s bottled water in there, you know,” Sam told him, eyebrow raised.

“I know. But the tap’s fine. Did you want one?”

“Steve. Sit.” It came out as an order. “What’s got you so strange?”

There was a hitch in Steve’s motion as he opened the icebox and pulled out a bottle. He winced, knowing Sam wouldn’t have missed it. He didn’t know the answer to that question — or it was so complex he couldn’t find the end to unknot it — and that made him even more antsy. In order to stall, he took down a wide bowl that hopefully wouldn’t tip and poured some water into it, then set it on the tiled floor.

When he straightened up, both Sam and Bucky were looking at him from the living room floor. He put his hands flat on the island counter and leaned on it. “I don’t know. I’m not good at sitting still, but there’s nothing we can do yet. And the world’s going on without us, and all I know about the fallout is that I’m trending on Twitter for something I haven’t even done.” He really needed to shut up. About ten seconds ago.

This time, both of Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he shifted so he could pull a phone from the pocket of his tracksuit pants. Bucky lifted his head and twisted to watch, then ripped up some of the carpet as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He leaned against Sam’s shoulder, looking down at the phone. Sam elbowed him back without a word. It was an easy, comfortable interaction, and after a second or two Steve couldn’t even watch it. He bent over and rested his forehead against his arms on the counter.

“Hey.” Sam dropped his phone on the couch and got to his feet, nudging Bucky aside. “You okay?”

“I’m... Yeah, I’m fine.” Steve raised his head to see Sam walking over to him. “Sorry. Maybe I need a nap.” Curling up in bed and pulling the covers over his head sounded perfect right now. Whether he actually slept or not didn’t matter.

“If that’s what you need,” Sam said, though he sounded skeptical.

“I have no idea, but it’s worth a try.” Steve lowered his voice to continue, “Please don’t go on Twitter in front of Bucky.”

Sam took a deep breath. “That’s not for you to decide, Steve. You’re too close, and you’ve got your own issues to confront.”

That seemed unnecessarily harsh, given how much work he’d been trying to do and his whole purpose for having come to Bucky’s rooms to begin with. “Fine. Okay. I’ll just take my issues and go.” His voice came out tired and resigned, and he decided a nap really was in order.

Sam stepped back away from the kitchen island. “If you change your mind and want to talk, come find me.”

“Thanks, Sam. Sorry I interrupted your alone time.” Steve touched Sam’s shoulder briefly while passing him to head over to Bucky. The frustrated exhale that came from behind Steve made his shoulders hunch. Seemed it was clear to Sam that Steve was doing this wrong, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with Sam’s disappointment in him at the moment.

He stepped up to Bucky, who was sitting still and had been watching them the whole time, ears back, eyes narrowed. He scratched Bucky’s chin, saying, “I’ll see you later, if you want. My door’s open.” Bucky let out a faint, anxious whine, and it made Steve realize that all he wanted was to lie down on the couch with Bucky on top of him and pet his fur for as long as it took the hole in his chest to close up. “It’s okay. It’s fine. You’ve got Sam. And I’m next door.”

Bucky pulled back, head turned away. Steve’s heart cracked in two. But Sam was right. Steve wasn’t in a state to be anywhere near Bucky, even if that was all he wanted. His talk with Nat had made him feel like he was ready to figure things out, but he must have been wrong. He glanced over at Sam and nodded, then swallowed and turned to walk out.

He stepped into the hallway and realized he had no desire to go to his apartment, but he let himself into it anyway. He flopped down on his bed and stared out the window, trying hard not to think of anything and failing miserably.

He’d been ready to talk about things with Bucky when he’d left Nat’s place. Or at least he’d been ready to let himself feel his emotions around Bucky, maybe even express them in some way. But everything had gotten derailed when he’d found Sam in Bucky’s apartment, which was ridiculous and juvenile. God, he’d been an idiot for overreacting. But the heart wasn’t logical, and it had hurt a lot for very little reason.

There was nothing he could do to occupy his mind. Tony’s security team was working on implementing their upgrades, and he’d just be in their way if he went to supervise. Besides, he was distracted, and that wasn’t exactly the best mindset for work.

Instead, he sighed and curled up under the covers to focus on his breathing, hoping he could calm his mind and drift off. At least he couldn’t make any mistakes while sleeping.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve woke with renewed purpose. If they were all going to be sitting around on their asses in the Tower for the foreseeable future, he needed to talk with Bucky or the situation was going to quickly become untenable. He still wasn’t sure how to go about it, but he had to try. He kicked off the covers and stood up to go, only to realize that Bucky might be otherwise occupied. The thought made him sit down on the edge of the bed.

“JARVIS?”

“Good afternoon, Captain. What may I do for you?” the computer answered in soothing tones.

“Can you tell me if Bucky’s alone in his apartment?” It felt a bit like spying to ask, but Steve needed this to be a private conversation. And a repeat of earlier would break his resolve completely.

“I’m afraid not, Captain. Sergeant Barnes is currently in the gym.”

The first sentence of JARVIS’ response took Steve’s breath. The second gave it back. “Alone, though?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.” He could do that. He could find a way to, well, to sort of come out to his best friend in a gym, surrounded by workout equipment. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work.

The gym, JARVIS had explained, had been designed specifically with the Avengers in mind, which meant it had to be as close to Hulk-proof, Thor-proof, and Steve-proof as possible. When he’d visited earlier, the computer had gone into a complex scientific explanation of the materials used in the gym’s construction and the physics behind things like the strength training machines that Steve had almost followed, until he’d tuned it out. Bucky had always been better at science and math than Steve.

Had JARVIS given Bucky that same speech? Steve couldn’t help but wonder as he stood just outside the glass doors and watched Bucky, in his hybrid combat form, bench pressing a deceptively fragile-looking bar attached to a resistance machine with metal cables.

Steve knew first-hand how strong the werewolf form and the cybernetic arm were, and he resolutely didn’t look at how much weight Bucky was pressing. Steve was pretty sure it was at least as much as he could lift. He concentrated instead on watching Bucky’s face. With a profile view he could see the length — and strength — of Bucky’s jaw, and when he grimaced in effort the fangs were clearly visible. When it was part of a wolf’s anatomy, Bucky’s mouth didn’t seem so terrifying — or at least it felt as threatening as it was supposed to be. Seeing the wolf’s head on a more human-shaped body was the part that caused fear to wash over Steve. The claws on fingers, not paws, inspired horror.

And yet, the longer Steve looked at Bucky in this form, the more of his friend he could see inside it. He stood there watching for a long time before he stepped into the gym and walked halfway to where Bucky was working out.

Bucky’s head came up, and he braced his arms up for a couple of heartbeats. Then he eased the bar back down into the rack over the bench. As he sat up, he shifted into his skin, muttering, “Sorry. Didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“It’s all right.” Steve sat down on a bench nearby and watched Bucky’s face — the one he’d spent so much time missing. The one that had changed so much even before now. The one he saw falling away from him in his nightmares over and over. The one that showed what Bucky had been through in the lines around his eyes — familiar eyes that held more suffering than any ever should and whose eloquence was heart-shattering. When it came down to it, this human face wasn’t that much easier to take than the werewolf one. “You can shift back if you want.”

Bucky shook his head, leaning down to rest his elbows on his knees. He was breathing hard, damp hair hanging over his face. “Sam says I shouldn’t. Something about perception and the subconscious.”

_What?_

“Whose perception?” Steve wanted to reach out and hook Bucky’s hair behind his ear so his face was more visible, but he was too far away, and he worried Bucky would pull away from his touch.

Bucky shrugged. “Everybody. And wolf form’s just around him or you, but he said even that isn’t a good idea. I’m less threatening this way, I guess.”

“I... no. Buck.” Steve winced. He couldn’t stand the idea of Bucky being seen as a threat, but that didn’t mean it should be his job to make people feel safe. “I don’t think you should... I don’t want you to edit yourself around me. You shouldn’t have to keep parts of yourself hidden because you’re worried I won’t like them as much. Especially if it feels safe to be in wolf form. You know I’m okay with that.” He wracked his brains trying to figure out why Sam had said something like that to Bucky. It seemed so antithetical to Sam’s beliefs about being yourself.

“It’s not — It’s because humans are prey, not predators, with something like me. It’s not conscious. It’s in the...” Bucky lifted his head enough to frown at Steve. “The lizard brain?”

Steve nodded, totally willing to talk about whatever Bucky needed to. His own issue could wait. “Yeah, instinct. But humans have a lot of instincts that they can override with conscious thought. And knowing it’s you inside your wolf form means I don’t feel threatened by you. I let you pin me down on the couch, remember? If I'd been working on instinct, that wouldn’t have happened.”

Bucky let out a breath and got to his feet. He circled the machine and picked up a towel and water bottle. The towel went around his shoulders, not his waist. As he opened the water bottle, he said, “It’s supposed to help you be okay around me.”

Standing up to close the distance between them, Steve said, “Buck, I _am_ okay around you. Well, at least it’s not your wolf that makes me...” He sighed, frustrated with his inability to express the jumble inside him. “I just stood outside and watched you in your half-shift form for at least ten minutes. And then I _came in._ ”

Bucky took a drink, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Then why’d you get all strange before, with Sam?”

A chill raced over Steve’s skin, followed closely by a pulse of heat. “It wasn’t because you were a wolf.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. “I was a third wheel and was drained from so much talking earlier. I feel better now after sleeping for a bit.”

“Third wheel?”

“You and Sam...” Steve felt so petty letting something like this make him feel crazy inside. “You didn’t need me in the way.”

“In the —” Bucky cut off, eyes going wide for just a moment before he shook his head. “Right. Okay.”

The combination of a negative head movement and affirmative words had Steve totally confused. “What?”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped in resignation, and he looked away, muttering, “Nothing. I’ll find pants.” He put the water bottle back down by the bench, then dropped to all fours, taking wolf form. The towel stayed draped around his neck.

“Buck.” Steve reached out and buried his fingers in the fur on Bucky’s back, stopping him after only a couple of steps. The idea that Bucky might be disappointed in him made him panic. “Please.” Bucky exhaled and stayed where he was, head and tail down. Steve dropped to his knees and buried his face in Bucky’s fur. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this. Please.”

Bucky turned and rested his jaw on Steve’s shoulder, leaning his weight against Steve’s chest. He stank of sweat and damp fur, and Steve was off balance, but somehow it was so much easier to breathe. Steve slid his arms around Bucky’s neck and held on as if to a life-preserver, and Bucky stayed where he was, making no move to pull away.

Steve lost track of how long he held on to Bucky like that, except he noticed their heartbeats lined up at some point, slow and hard. When his started to quicken, he pulled away far enough to murmur in Bucky’s ear, “Shift back for me?”

Seeing the shift was far different from feeling it. Steve didn’t have a chance to pull back before he felt bones move under his hands, fur flattening into skin, and then he found himself with his arms around a naked, sweaty Bucky on all fours.

He left one hand on Bucky’s shoulder but sat back on his heels and looked Bucky in the face to say, “No, the other form, Buck. Let me see it.” Then he steeled himself to handle the hybrid form.

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t even lift his head. “You’re supposed to see me as human. Not as me.”

_Shit._

“Is that the way you see yourself?”

Slowly, Bucky sat back, looking up just enough to meet Steve’s eyes. “Huh?”

“You made ‘human’ sound like it’s not who you are. Which form feels the most like you?” Steve held his breath to hear the response.

“All three.” Bucky threw another glance Steve’s way. “I’m _not_ human.”

“Then show me the other form. Please, Buck. I want to know all of you.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder in a way he hoped was encouraging, because he was afraid his face was anything but.

Uncertainly, Bucky asked, “You’ll be careful? So I don’t bite you?”

Steve let his breath out slowly, and a soft smile crept across his mouth, starting at one side. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

Bucky nodded, taking a deep breath as though bracing himself. Then he leaned back over, pushing up onto all fours, and shifted, keeping his head turned away.

He grew in size, but didn’t change much in shape. His body was taller, broader, and thicker, more muscled and covered in fur. He balanced on his clawed fingers and toes, his long feet ending in sharp heels that looked like backward knees. The muscles rippled in his back and Steve swallowed at the power in this body, the potential for extreme violence. But that was it. It was only potential. There was no active threat here. Bucky’s body language was almost fearful, avoiding any sort of confrontation. And still, if Steve hadn’t just spent however long acclimating himself to the form now before him, it would have made him more nervous, if not downright frightened.

As it was, he could feel his heart beating at a quick clip right at the base of his throat, and a single chill had run down his spine as the shift was complete. No fear-sweat at least, so Bucky couldn’t smell it on him. That was something. He rested his hand on top of Bucky’s huge shoulder, right where it met the thick, ropey muscles of his neck, and said, “Look at me?”

Bucky turned just enough to meet Steve’s eyes for a moment. “It’s not safe,” he said, the words warped by the shape of his muzzle.

In the heat of their fight and the chaos of the helicarrier going down, Steve hadn’t been positive the howls and roars from Bucky had contained words. It could have just been his imagination wanting to find humanity in the werewolf before him so that he could see it as his friend. But here was proof of the man inside the monster. Not that ‘monster’ was the correct term, because this was just as much Bucky as his human skin, and Bucky was anything but a monster.

“I’m safe. I’m with you. You, Bucky Barnes, are my friend.” He combed his fingers through the fur on Bucky’s neck, hoping to soothe him. “I want to see your face. Your eyes. Look at me, please.”

Bucky lifted his metal hand to cover his muzzle. Like the rest of Bucky, his hand had shifted, claws lengthening and sharpening at the edges and tips. Then he turned and met Steve’s gaze.

The eyes were Bucky’s all over. They weren’t the same shape or size, but they were the same color, and they held the same haunted look. Even though his heart hurt at the fear he saw there, Steve smiled and said, “Hey, you.” Then he squeezed Bucky’s shoulder again and asked, “Will you bite me if you take your hand away?”

Bucky’s ears twitched back. His answer — “No?” — came out on a whine muffled by his hand.

Holding his breath and refusing to believe what he was doing was stupid — which was the only way he did anything risky — Steve slowly took hold of Bucky’s wrist and gently pulled to get Bucky to move his hand away from his mouth. He knew he couldn’t force the hand himself; Bucky had to want to let go. But the tug was insistent and controlled, and Steve’s breathing was as calm as he could make it.

Slowly, Bucky let Steve pull his hand away. Steve knew that the pleading look in Bucky’s eyes was out of worry for Steve’s safety, not his own. But Steve insisted, and Bucky remained passive, though he glanced away as Steve let go of his hand.

And it wasn’t _that_ bad, even this close. Bucky’s face looked almost exactly like it did in wolf form — just a bit stronger. With his mouth closed, there was no sign of deadly fangs.

“You know, when you’re like this, it’s the best of both worlds. I can pet you, _and_ you can talk to me.” Steve was proud of how normal his voice sounded.

“It’s risky.” Bucky’s ears twitched. “It’s a stupid risk.”

Steve managed to grin more than wince at Bucky’s words. Because he had no real idea how true they were. “I thought you knew me. Stupid risks are what I’m best at. Besides” — he reached up to stroke the fur on Bucky’s cheek — “it’s worth it.”

Steve could feel how Bucky’s jaws had gone tight. And though it was still hard to read Bucky’s wolfish face, Steve suspected the look Bucky gave him was one of exasperation.

 _That_ felt familiar. It brought a fond smile to Steve’s face, and he chuckled, letting off some of his nervous energy. “All right. Fine. Shift however you feel comfortable. No use trying your patience until you bite me just to make me see reason.”

Immediately, Bucky dropped back into his human form, visibly relaxing. “If you do that again, you should be armed.”

Steve hadn’t missed the fact that Bucky framed it as something _he’d_ done — subjecting Bucky to perusal, against his wishes. It reminded Steve that Bucky still wasn’t good at understanding that he had agency — that he could say _no._

“Was it hard for you?” Steve asked.

“I get confused. I bite. If I bit you, you wouldn’t be human anymore.”

“But that happens only in... werewolf form? Or in wolf form too?” Steve touched Bucky’s shoulder to feel his skin. It helped to ground each form in Steve’s own physical reality. That and it felt good to touch Bucky in any of his forms, and once he started touching one, it was hard to stop, even when Bucky shifted.

“Both.” Bucky shrugged, looking down as he sat more comfortably on the gym floor. The towel had slipped down, but he made no move to pick it up and cover himself. “But everything’s more distant for the wolf. Easier to handle.”

“Distant?” Steve frowned at the idea of that being a good thing.

“Less complicated. More like how it was with the pack.” One corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up. “Humans complicate _everything_.”

Steve winced as he laughed, knowing how very true that was. He wished he could figure out how not to be so human in that sense when it came to Bucky. There had to be a simple solution to all of this. Trying to stay on track, he said, “So, in wolf form you _could_ bite me, but you don’t really want to as much?”

Bucky shook his head and sighed. “I want to _more_ , but I also want to protect you. That’s... I guess it’s a deeper instinct?”

That was a damned good sign. To Steve, it meant that he was firmly lodged in Bucky’s memory. That at least subconsciously, Bucky remembered that Steve was family — part of his pack, maybe. “Well, then, we’re all right. You care about me enough to not... Wait.” Steve ran his hand down Bucky’s arm. “You want to _more?_ Why?”

Bucky turned away. “Because I’m _not_ human,” he said quietly. “I’m alone.”

“You... But I’m... You want someone to be a werewolf with you?” Steve had assumed that Bucky was struggling with going against orders when he talked about not biting Steve. Not that he might be going against his own nature, somehow. That made everything a lot more difficult.

A slight nod was his only answer.

“You miss your pack.” Steve took hold of Bucky’s hand as he said, “But Buck, I’m already your pack. We’ve been family for... forever. You’re my...” He tried not to say it, but there were no other words for it. “You’re my Bucky. My friend, my brother, my everything. I don’t have anyone I’m as close with as you. Never have.”

“Yeah.” Bucky gave Steve a faint smile. “I know.”

How was it that after saying all of that, Steve still felt inadequate? “Then why do you want to bite me? How is making me a werewolf better?”

Bucky shrugged, smile fading. “I guess it wouldn’t?”

“You don’t believe that. I’m asking because I want to know your mind, Buck, not because I’m trying to change it.” Steve tried to soften his voice so he didn’t sound like he was in a debate. He ran his hand up Bucky’s arm again, resting it on his shoulder, thumb stroking the base of his neck.

This time, Bucky’s shrug ended with him hunched down a little lower, as if expecting to be hit. “It’s not the same.”

Steve pulled Bucky close, hands cupping either side of his neck. “Tell me how it’s different.”

Bucky went still, though Steve could feel the tension in his body. “I can’t _feel_ you. You’re not in here,” he said, touching the side of his head, still avoiding meeting Steve’s eyes. “We’re not _pack_.”

It had always felt to Steve like they’d been inside each other’s heads. They used to finish each other’s sentences, knew what the other was going to say before they said it. They used to move in concert on and off the battlefield. Steve had missed that more than he’d let himself admit. He didn’t want to think there was such a simple way of getting that back — possibly the only way, given Bucky was such a different person now.

But it wasn’t the thought of being in Bucky’s head that made Steve lose his breath. It was the need to know one thing more. He slid his right hand down over Bucky’s collarbone to rest on the left side of his chest, registering the heartbeat beneath his palm. “But am I in here?”

Bucky frowned, looking up at Steve. “Huh?”

_Shit._

The blankness on Bucky’s face looked more like incomprehension than rejection, but something still stabbed through Steve’s heart at the thought that Bucky didn’t understand what Steve was asking, let alone why. And the prospect of explaining things was daunting. “Buck... I don’t need you in my head ’cause I’ve got you in my heart. See, I’ve been... I just... Do you...”

And that blankness never went away. Bucky — once so charming, so good at picking up dames no matter how unlikely the circumstances — just stared at Steve, waiting patiently for an explanation, more information, or anything at all, as if he’d be content to sit there on the floor of the gym for the rest of the day.

_Shit._

Last ditch effort. Most likely going to blow up in his face. Deep breath... Go. “Could I maybe... would it be okay with you if I... if I kissed you?”

Bucky blinked a couple of times, brows drawing down in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I think I...” Steve had a moment of wondering what the universe had against him that it felt the need to make things so damned hard right now. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just say so, and I won’t ask again.” He pulled his hands away from Bucky and placed them in his lap.

Frowning even more, Bucky said, “You’re not gay. So _why?_ ”

Steve sighed heavily in frustration. “Jesus, Buck. Because I love you. And depending who you ask, I’m every letter of the gay alphabet.”

Bucky shook his head, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “No. No, you’re not, ’cause _that_ I’d remember. You _never_ liked guys before.”

For a second, Steve thought Bucky was unable to believe him because he was homophobic, but then the well-concealed panic in Bucky’s voice clued him in:  Bucky was questioning his memory. That seemed totally fair, though; even Steve hadn’t understood his attraction back then. He breathed deeply and tried to take things slow, to be as clear as possible. “I’ve never kissed a guy before, true. But if I’m being honest, I’ve loved you since we were kids. I just didn’t know what that meant until I got you back.”

“You...” The suspicion melted away into confusion. “Really?”

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve was sure if he put his hand to his own face right then, it would be hot to the touch. “The question now is whether you’re okay with that.”

Still puzzled, Bucky said, “Yeah. I just never thought I had a shot, so I didn’t even try.”’

_What?_

“You... Seriously?” Steve felt his face go blank. Hell, even his mind had gone blank. “You would have...”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah,” he repeated as if it should be obvious. “You just... I don’t remember you ever being interested in _anyone_ until the war. And then you had Peggy and... chorus girls?”

Steve shook his head. “Never once with the chorus girls. They were out of my league. And Peggy... well, she believed in me. That meant more than anything else. But before...” He looked up from his hands to Bucky’s face, wondering about all those double dates and what they were for. “It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, it was that no one even looked at me. Don’t you remember how scrawny I was? None of the girls you found for me gave me the time of day.”

“Didn’t matter to me. _I_ wanted you, even scrawny.”

More head shaking, this time vigorously. “Don’t say things like that Buck. You don’t have to lie like that.” Even small kindnesses sometimes hurt.

Bucky’s flinch was almost too subtle for Steve to catch. He swallowed, and Steve thought he was going to say something, but all he did was nod, looking away.

“I mean, thanks for trying to make me feel better, but...” Steve shrugged. “You could have had anyone. Why in hell would you have wanted me?”

“I... didn’t?” Bucky asked, darting a quick look Steve’s way.

Steve had meant the question rhetorically, but watching Bucky try to find the right answer so Steve would... what? Reward him? Or simply not punish him? It had Steve needing to push. “That’s not true, is it? It’s okay if it’s not. But please, Buck. I always want you to tell me the truth. Okay?”

“I don’t remember. I get confused.” It came out rote, like something Bucky had said so often that he believed it, even when it wasn’t true.

Hearing it, fearing it _was_ true, panicked Steve. He needed Bucky to remember, not because he needed to know how Bucky felt, but because their past meant so much to him he couldn’t bear the thought of Bucky losing it.

“You _do_ remember. You remember how much shorter I was, how I had to tie my ties so they wouldn’t be too long. You remember you had to stop giving me hand-me-downs and telling me I’d grow into them. You remember you used to pick me up when I was being especially stupid and stubborn and how much I told you I hated you for it.” He smiled softly at Bucky as he continued. “I never hated you for that. I loved it. I’d drive you crazy just so you’d pick me up and pretend like you were gonna throw me off the pier.”

A little hesitantly, Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I... I remember some of it was just excuses to get close to you,” he admitted slowly, tensing up as if bracing himself.

Steve itched to get closer, but he held off. This had to be Bucky’s choice. “All those headlocks... All that rough-housing... Now’s your chance, Buck,” Steve offered. “Get as close as you want.”

But instead of closing the few inches between them, Bucky pulled back, shaking his head. “No. I’m _not_ going to bite you.”

_What?_

_Oh._

“ _That’s_ as close as you want, huh?”

Bucky nodded, looking back down at the floor. “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I can do that. Not without a hell of a lot more thought. And if that’s the only way you want me, I’m sorry, but I have to say no.” Steve touched Bucky’s chin to get him to look up. “But you can have me any other way you want. _If_ you want.”

“I don’t...” Bucky’s head tipped a bit, and he gave Steve a puzzled look. “You mean, like me and Howard?”

Steve’s breath came out in a hard rush on the word, _“What?”_ He leaned back and stared at Bucky, bewildered. “Howard?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning again. “You remember Howard, right? Howard Stark?”


	17. Chapter 17

Was it actually possible to be _more_ surprised by something? Steve had thought he’d hit the limit when he found out his best friend was a werewolf. Apparently, there were things more shocking than that. Steve was dumbfounded. He just stared at Bucky, willing him to make sense. Howard Stark was even more of a ladies’ man than Bucky was. Had Steve missed the memo somewhere back in the thirties that the best way to find someone who liked boys was to look for the disgustingly heterosexual ones?

“You and _Howard?_ But he was always after Peggy...” If someone had told Steve the sky was actually green, he would have gone outside to check.

“Yeah, but she was _your_ gal. Right? I remember that.”

“Sorta. I guess. But really just for about two hours. We never went on a date or danced or anything. She kissed me only once, right before I crashed into the ice.” Steve shook his head. He’d relived all of that too many times in his dreams to dredge it up again. Besides, they were getting off track. “But Howard...?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, did you — I _liked_ him. A lot. And neither of us had a shot with either of you, so...”

Steve realized his jaw was practically on the floor, but he had a hard time closing his mouth. “You... either of... ‘so,’ _what?_ Did you date?” He almost asked, _‘Did you fondue?’_ but he remembered just in time that didn’t mean anything.

“Kinda? I don’t remember it being more than a few nights, but... Stuff that long ago... I get confused.”

Certain now that the phrase _‘I get confused’_ was either a way to avoid punishment or something he’d been told enough that he believed it, Steve was tempted to push. But in the end, he didn’t want to know. He’d liked Howard, mostly. At least he’d been a lot easier to take than Tony ever was. He didn’t want to start hating Howard for having something Steve had always wanted, even if it was before he’d known that for sure.

“So... You’ve been with guys and gals, then.” For the first time in all this, Steve started to think about what might be expected of him, and he worried about how woefully lacking he was in experience.

“Well, yeah. Though not since the war, I don’t think.”

“But you want to be with me?” It still didn’t quite make sense to Steve, so he felt the need to ask to make sure.

“I... Yeah, but — I mean, do _you?_ And what if I bite you?”

“Yeah, Buck. I do. I can’t keep my hands off you. Why do you think I like your wolf form so much? It’s because I can pet you.” Steve smiled as he reached up and hooked some stray strands of Bucky’s sweaty hair behind his ear. “But if you bite me, make sure you do it with your human teeth. ’Cause otherwise I’m gonna be upset.”

“Would that matter?” Bucky asked curiously. “Isn’t a bite, a bite?”

Steve suddenly realized that a bite to Bucky meant something a lot more violent and injurious than what Steve had in mind. “Well, yeah. Please don’t draw blood no matter what teeth you have in. And be careful with your claws, too. I heal quickly, but something like that will still hurt.”

Bucky clenched his hands into fists and drew back, wide-eyed. “I don’t want to hurt you at all, Steve. Maybe we shouldn’t...”

“Kissing doesn’t hurt, Buck. C’mere. I’ll show you.” Steve had a momentary pang of panic, thinking back to his conversation with Nat about everyone needing practice, but he figured if Bucky hadn’t kissed anyone since the war, maybe they were equally out of shape.

“You sure, Steve? I mean, I’m not gonna go anywhere unless you tell me to,” Bucky said, relaxing a little. “You don’t have to.”

Highly aware of the probability that Bucky had been coerced into who-knew-what for decades, Steve tried to tread lightly. “I know I don’t have to. And neither do you. But if you _want_ to, then we definitely should, because I want that. I want to kiss you.”

Bucky didn’t respond — but he also didn’t pull away. He just stared at Steve, eyes wide, and when Steve licked his lips as he started to lean in, those eyes locked on his mouth. It was that focus which made Steve certain he wasn’t forcing Bucky into anything he didn’t want — that and the way he closed his eyes, letting down his defenses, when Steve kissed him.

For a few quiet, wonderful seconds, the world narrowed down to only the feel of Bucky’s lips. Then Bucky’s mouth opened, and his hand wrapped around the back of Steve’s neck, and Steve sat back abruptly as Bucky leaned in and took charge of the kiss. Steve didn’t have much of an option but to hang on for the ride, which he was absolutely fine with. Bucky was a damned good kisser. Not that Steve had much of a gauge, but it didn’t take long before he was panting into Bucky’s mouth, hot and interested and wanting more contact. So much more.

Without quite breaking the kiss, Bucky whispered into Steve’s mouth, “We doing this here?”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure what _this_ was meant to be, but the pulse of lust that went through him at the thought of them doing pretty much anything had him nodding his head — then pausing to think. “Showers?” They would have at least slightly more privacy than being right in front of the glass doors, and Bucky could wash off the sweat that had dried on him during their conversation.

The sound Bucky made was close to a growl, and a thin ribbon of fear wound itself around Steve’s insides, heightening the excitement that had balled itself up in the pit of his stomach. Bucky got to his feet, pulling Steve up with him, and said, “Showers. Don’t think I’ve ever done that before.” He let out a soft, wicked laugh as he added, “I remember a map table, though.”

“Jesus, Buck.” Steve shook his head, but the image of Bucky and Howard, limbs tangled, bodies splayed across Central Europe wouldn’t be banished. Then again, it made Steve lose his breath, so it couldn’t be all bad. “That’s so hot. Not fair.”

“He _loved_ it,” Bucky whispered in Steve’s ear before turning him around and giving him a shove towards the doors, staying pressed close to his back. “I remember he was _always_ wanting more. Anywhere we could get a few minutes’ privacy.”

Hearing that caused a wave of bitter pain to make everything feel sharp, and Steve had to grit his teeth against the regret that welled up before he could say, “I don’t care about him. I want you to show me what you like.”

Bucky’s steps faltered, and the inches of space that opened between their bodies sent a chill down Steve’s spine. “I don’t — I don’t know.”

Cursing himself for throwing Bucky off his game, Steve immediately turned around and pulled Bucky along with him. “Then I guess you’ll have to figure out what _I_ like, and let _me_ discover what you like.”

“It’s okay if I don’t _know?_ ” Bucky asked, letting his hands come to rest on Steve’s hips.

“I damned well _hope_ so, because I have no clue. I’ve never done this before.” Steve knew his neck and face were red from having to admit that, but he’d trusted Bucky with everything else in his life, and he wasn’t going to stop now. When he’d decided to make it with a werewolf, he’d already made himself so vulnerable, it would be hard to be any more exposed.

Bucky relaxed against Steve’s body and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. “Okay. But you’ll tell me if I do something wrong? I want to be good for you.”

Cringing at the wording — and praying that Bucky’s handlers never made him be ‘good’ in this way — Steve answered. “Just you being here is good for me, hon. And I’ll let you know if I don’t like something. I’m no expert, but I don’t think there really is a right and wrong with this stuff.”

Bucky slid his arms around Steve’s body, sliding his fingers up under Steve’s T-shirt. “Can I do the stuff I _do_ remember?”

“Absolutely.” The moment he said it, he hoped Howard wasn’t into anything weird, but knowing Tony, Steve might end up on a wild ride. As long as it was with Bucky, he’d try anything once.

Steve could feel Bucky’s sudden grin against the side of his neck. “In the shower, then?”

A rush of mad joy flew through Steve at finally having his Bucky so fully. It made him giddy. “Yeah, hurry up already. You stink like a dog.”

 

~~~

 

Because the tower had been designed by Tony rather than conventional architects, the locker room outside the gym was nothing like the locker rooms Steve had seen before. The showers were spacious marble cubicles big enough for three, with multiple showerheads on opposite walls as well as overhead.

Stepping under the spray with Bucky’s, “I’ll join you in a minute,” ringing off the walls, Steve couldn’t help but think about how vastly different this shower would be from the first one they’d shared in Sam’s condo. Less fur clogging the drain, for one.

Then Bucky came around the glass wall, a clear plastic bottle in one hand. “This stuff should be okay for people, right? Not machines?” he asked, walking right into the water to offer Steve the bottle.

It was a sleek product with discreet packaging, called ‘Uberlube’, and supposedly it had multiple uses, but all of them were definitely for people. “Hair oil and anti-chafing gel for runners? What the hell is this for?”

“Lemme show you.” Bucky took the bottle from Steve’s hands, shook the wet hair out of his eyes, and gave Steve’s shoulder a gentle push. “Turn around.”

Steve caught hold of Bucky’s hips first, before they were out of reach, and pulled him close, saying, “Kiss me first.”

With a quiet, contented growl, Bucky got his metal arm around Steve’s waist and tipped his head back for a kiss. Steve lost track of what he was supposed to do as their hips and torsos pressed against each other. The feeling of Bucky’s hot, wet skin sliding against his own had all of Steve’s attention, especially when he registered the hard length of Bucky’s cock against the hollow of his hip.

_Jesus._

If Steve hadn’t been fully hard yet, that sensation, combined with Bucky’s mouth on his when he bent his head to claim his kiss, fixed that in a heartbeat. The kiss was hot and messy and stole Steve’s breath, leaving him panting in the same rhythm of Bucky’s sharp, short thrusts against his hip. Then Bucky murmured Steve’s name and pulled his hand back from Steve’s waist —

And _that_ was Bucky’s metal hand curling around Steve’s cock, hard and just a little cold despite the hot water.

“Fuck. Bucky...” It wasn’t _quite_ a whine, but it was close enough. Steve wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, except _more._

Bucky laughed and backed away from the kiss. “Watch your mouth, Steve,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes. “Someone might hear.”

Steve chased Bucky’s mouth with his own, speaking between quick kisses, “As long as that ‘someone’ includes you, I don’t give a fuck who else hears.” He tried not to believe that Tony would let JARVIS do surveillance in the showers, but this _was_ Tony, after all.

Ducking down to get at Steve’s throat, Bucky said, “Good. I need to hear you. It’s the only way I can know what you want.” He tightened his fingers just a little bit and stroked down, then back up. The hard, smooth press of Bucky’s metal fingers gliding along Steve’s shaft was completely novel and all-consuming, causing a sigh that was just short of a whimper. Bucky practically purred in response and did it again, just as slow but a little harder, whispering, “Turn around, Steve.”

“But...” Not following orders had worked out so well before, Steve contemplated doing it again, except that the promise of whatever came next had his breath going off-rhythm. “Yeah, okay.” He turned slowly and was rewarded with Bucky pressed against him once more like a blanket, warm right arm wrapped around Steve’s body to keep their bodies close.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky muttered, trailing his lips up the back of Steve’s neck. “I remember that. I’d turn around and see you, and it was like looking at a stranger. A really hot stranger. And then I’d remember that’s you.”

Steve knew that it had taken Bucky some time to adjust to him after he’d changed — grown into Captain America — but hearing the desire in Bucky’s voice made his heart bang against him and his voice scratch as he leaned back into Bucky’s touch. “It’s just the serum. You have Dr. Erskine to thank for this.”

“I remembered wanting you _before_... When you were small, but still hot.” Bucky went still for a moment. “You were, weren’t you?”

Speechless, Steve ran his hand over the arm Bucky had wrapped around his chest. Steve had only ever thought of himself as completely invisible before the serum. Especially since his best friend was so beautiful and charming and desirable. No one had ever noticed the short guy standing next to Bucky. He hadn’t let it get to him most of the time, but the idea that the most gorgeous guy in the room had thought that _he_ was hot... He shook his head. “I dunno, Buck. You were too pretty for anyone to look anywhere else.”

“Don’t care about ‘anyone’ _. I_ wanted _you_.” Bucky got his other arm around Steve and nudged at him with the bottle of lubricant. “Open this for me.”

Pausing in his inspection of the top, Steve sighed in exasperation. “Then how in the hell did it take us this long?” He ripped off the shrink wrap that held the pump in down position and popped it up, then set the bottle in Bucky’s palm.

Bucky drew both arms back, and water from the shower head in the ceiling rained down between their bodies. “You had Peggy. I remember you didn’t even notice anyone else.”

Turning around to look at Bucky, who was looking down at his hands, Steve protested, “I never _had_ Peggy. She had me.”

Bucky smirked at him. “Did she?”

It took a second for Steve to cop on to Bucky’s meaning. “No! She was my CO. Just because you were on the prowl during briefings doesn’t mean...” He stopped, knowing he wasn’t being fair. He wouldn’t have known what to do with Bucky back then had he offered — hell, he still didn’t know what to do with him now — but he couldn’t get mad because Bucky had found someone else when he’d been admittedly preoccupied. “Sorry.”

Bucky frowned and pushed his wet hair back out of his eyes. “Why?”

“That was uncalled for. You had every right to do whatever with Howard. I shouldn’t let it...” Steve huffed in frustration and looked down at what Bucky was doing with the bottle in his hands. “What’s that for, anyway?”

After a couple of confused blinks, Bucky shrugged and said, “Turn back around. I’ll show you.” Steve did as he was told, but reached back to grab hold of Bucky’s hips and pull them forward, seeking contact. Laughing, Bucky said, “Need a little room here, Steve. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The combination of humor and affection in Bucky’s voice sounded exactly like old times, and Steve had to catch his breath at having even the tiniest part of his Bucky back. For keeps. He’d lost so much of himself when he’d lost Bucky that he hadn’t seen much purpose to anything. But now, knowing that Bucky wanted to be right there with him, and wanted to be _this_ close...

Bucky’s right hand, warm and callused, slid down Steve’s back and onto his ass. “Lean forward a bit,” Bucky whispered, kissing Steve’s nape again. “Spread your legs.”

_Oh, right._

_That_ was what they were doing here. Steve braced his hands against the tiled wall and spread his legs, letting his head hang down between his arms. He took a deep breath and tried not to anticipate what Bucky was going to do. The hot water pouring down his head and arms and back helped calm him. He didn’t want to seem nervous.

“I’ll just use my right hand, okay? The left shouldn’t hurt, but I’m not taking any chances with you.” He nudged Steve’s shoulder with the bottle, saying, “Hold this.” As soon as Steve took the bottle, Bucky flattened his metal hand against Steve’s chest and ran it down his body. This time, the feel of metal fingers around his cock wasn’t so unfamiliar. The cool temperature was a contrast to the hot water —

Steve gasped when new nerves sparked to life at the brush of Bucky’s other hand, fingers trailing from his tailbone all the way down to his balls. Without thinking, he spread his legs more, and this time the touch was focused, with a little push. Steve’s hips jerked forward in surprise, pushing his cock right against Bucky’s hand.

_Fuck._

That had no right to feel as good as it did. Any of it. Bucky’s hands on him were tender and ignited Steve’s insides, making him crave more connection. Dropping the bottle of lube, Steve reached back to clutch at Bucky’s hip.

Bucky laughed again, just as he pushed with his finger and slid his hand down and up, and the combination of sensations was almost overwhelming. And this time, Bucky kept pushing his finger far enough inside to be a little bit uncomfortable — or _not_ uncomfortable, Steve realized as he exhaled and made himself relax. New and strange, but... good. Better with every breath, because his body relaxed and the metal hand on his cock never stopped moving in slow and hard strokes. Interest became arousal. Arousal became desire. And as desire turned to need, he found himself rocking his hips back onto Bucky’s finger and forward into his hand.

Bucky kissed Steve’s nape, his shoulder, then down his back. “Spread a little more,” he said, his voice a rough, low growl, and when Steve spread his legs, Bucky crouched down to kiss his hip, just as a second finger teased its way inside him.

Steve had to swallow, eyes tightly closed. “Bucky —”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, relaxing his metal hand without stopping. The light touch was different, making Steve’s breath hitch. He shook his head, unable to find words, and deliberately pushed back. The fingers inside him burned, but in a good way, as if that little bit of pain made the pleasure that much sweeter.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered on a stuttered exhale, wondering if this — sex — was always supposed to feel this way, a confused, dizzying mix of sensations and need building inside him, through him, until even his fingertips were tingling. The world had narrowed down to Bucky’s fingers inside him, body-warm metal around him, mouth against him, and he’d never felt _closer_ to Bucky in his whole life.

And then Bucky’s fingers twisted and crooked and moved in a way that sent a jolt of liquid heat through Steve’s body and up his spine and into his brain. He let out a sound that was embarrassing, almost too loud for him to hear Bucky’s laugh.

“Yeah. Thought I remembered that,” Bucky said, and he did it again, whatever _it_ was.

Steve’s vision whited out for a moment, the sharp point of desire pressing against his throat when he swallowed, and his voice cracked as he grunted out, “Fuck. That’s...” It was on the knife’s edge of too much, but Steve wanted to feel all of it. Breath gone and muscles twitching, he twisted to grasp at Bucky but all he could reach was a shoulder, his fingers sliding off the metal surface. Needing to give back some of the pleasure he was receiving before it consumed him, he tugged on Bucky’s arm and said, “C’mere, I need you.”

Bucky laughed again and stayed where he was, pressing his fingers in a slow circle, encouraging Steve to spread his legs out and push back with his hips. Bucky’s other hand followed, keeping the rhythm of his slow, steady strokes on Steve’s cock.

“Want more, Steve?”

“You, Buck. I want you.” Steve barely kept himself from pleading as the pleasure built to where he couldn’t keep his hips still.

“Already? I don’t remember it being this fast,” Bucky said uncertainly. He gave another twist of his fingers and asked, “Doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Dunno. Don’t care. Kiss me.”

Bucky let go of Steve’s cock and slid his fingers out, the friction causing a groan and the emptiness eliciting a whimper. Swiping up the bottle of lube, Bucky got to his feet and pulled Steve into a kiss. Molding his body to the shape of Bucky’s, Steve sought as much surface area as possible. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and held on tight as the kiss, sloppy and panting and deep, helped ground him.

When the kiss broke, Bucky ducked to kiss Steve’s throat, murmuring, “Turn around again. And lemme know if it hurts. A little is okay, but not too much, I think.”

“One sec.” Steve just wanted to revel in the feel of Bucky’s body against his for a little longer. It was hot and wet and eager, what with his hard cock pressed up against Steve’s abdomen. Reaching his hand down between them, he said, “May I?” just as his fingers brushed against Bucky’s hard flesh.

Bucky’s breath caught. He gasped out, “Yeah?” uncertainly, but there was nothing uncertain about the way he thrust forward against Steve’s hand. “If — If you want?”

Steve pushed the hair out of Bucky’s face with his free hand and marveled at how much he looked like his old self with it slicked back. Steve bent to kiss his jaw and neck and right shoulder as he figured out how to touch Bucky — how tightly to fit a hand around his cock, how quick and hard to stroke, how combining that motion with a scrape of teeth against Bucky’s skin or grabbing hold of his ass caused an almost wolf-like whimper. Everything about it felt both familiar and strange. The mechanics were the same as on himself, but the reactions were brand new and very arousing. He could make Bucky whine in pleasure, not pain or fear, and it was intoxicating. Addictive.

But it was Bucky who knew what they were actually doing here, and Steve had derailed things by wanting to explore. It had been so exciting to hear and feel Bucky being confident about something, and everything he had done to Steve had felt incredible, so he pushed aside the desire to make Bucky come like this and let go as he looked into Bucky’s flushed face. “Mmm. Yeah. More of that later. But you wanted me, how?”

“Huh?”

He turned around and spread his legs, then looked back over his shoulder and added, “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Bucky slid his hand down Steve’s back, slick and warm, and kissed his nape. “Yeah. Spread your legs a little more. You’re taller than me.” Laughing softly, Bucky added, “This would’ve been easier, before you changed.”

The apparent fact that Bucky really had wanted him when he was scrawny combined with the image of Bucky covering him from behind — when he could have enveloped Steve almost completely in his strong arms — pulled a whimper from Steve’s throat. Bucky dropped the bottle of lube again, then worked his hand down between Steve’s legs, followed by —

_Oh._

_Fuck._

That would never fit. The pressure made Steve’s breath catch in his throat and his heart kick as everything tensed. He was pretty sure this was a bad idea — that he might not be able to do it. Bucky shouldn’t have thought Steve would ever be good at this like Howard. It made a lump lodge in his throat so that Bucky’s name came out a whisper.

“Yeah, Steve?” Bucky asked almost as softly as he pushed forward, straining against Steve’s body.

“I don’t — Is this... okay? How do I...”

Bucky stopped moving. “I... Maybe I did something wrong?” he ventured uncertainly, backing away from Steve. “Maybe I’m not remembering right. I get confused.”

Steve’s heart cracked. This wasn't his old friend from the war, but the new Bucky who lost his way so easily. The moment anything went wrong, something inside Bucky just shut down. Steve wished with all his might he could be strong for Bucky at that moment, but he wasn't the one who knew the mechanics of what they were doing. That knowledge was locked in Bucky’s broken, unreliable memory.

The sex had gotten them here, but that wasn’t what was important. It was the connection that Steve wanted — and that Bucky needed right now. Trying to project calm reassurance with every breath, Steve pulled Bucky into his arms and hugged him close, saying, “It’s okay, Buck. We're okay.”


	18. Chapter 18

As Steve held Bucky close, he hoped to God he'd told the truth — that they would be able to work through whatever stumbling block they'd run up against. Not just because he was aching for Bucky to fuck him, but so that Bucky didn't lose himself into whatever conditioning made him so uncertain.  

Granted, it was also true that if Bucky didn’t know how to make this work, they were screwed. Or _not_ screwed. There had to be something simple Steve had missed. As he rubbed Bucky’s back, he ventured, “Maybe more lube?”

Bucky nodded, drawing back slowly. “Thought I did,” he said, frowning down at the bottle on the floor. He shrugged and picked it up, venturing a faint smile at Steve. “Maybe it’s the shower.”

Considering how quickly his moments of ‘confusion’ hit, he seemed to recover equally fast, at least sometimes. Relieved, Steve turned back around, hoping his Bucky had come back enough to know how to continue. Now more than ever, Steve needed the connection between them to feel as close as possible.

This time, Bucky’s slick finger slid in easily, hitting just the right spot, and Steve arched his back and cried out at the intense jolt of sensation. It made everything tingle and Steve’s fingernails scrabbled at the tiles for purchase as he backed onto Bucky’s hand.

“Yes. Please, Buck.”

Bucky laughed, sounding relieved, and pushed a second finger inside with the first. “Okay. I couldn’t remember how long I’m supposed to do this for.”

The fire under Steve’s skin seared away his patience. “Not much longer, or I’ll explode. Please.”

Bucky huffed against Steve’s leg and stood back up, pulling his fingers out. “Make up your mind,” he scolded with another laugh.

“You keep pressing that button, and I lose everything. Just...” Steve sighed against his arm. “Lube up, Buck. I can take you.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay,” Bucky said a little breathlessly. The bottle hit the floor a second later. “Should I push harder? I really don’t want to hurt you...”

Steve had no idea, but at this point he didn’t care. He’d make it work. “Hard and steady. If I say ‘stop’ don’t move at all, either way.”

“Okay... But stop me if it hurts,” Bucky said as he started to push again, just like Steve had said.

His hips were canted back more this time, and when Bucky pressed forward he couldn’t help bearing down and pushing back a bit, and it started to not feel impossible to let him in. He still felt a lot bigger than two fingers, and the stretch burned a bit, but Steve wanted him inside so badly he was willing to take it.

And then Bucky was all the way inside, and Steve dropped a hand back, scratching at his hip. “Stop. Don’t move.”

Bucky leaned his head against Steve’s and nodded. “Yeah. Okay,” he said breathlessly.

“Fuck. You’re so much. I can’t...” _Move_. _Breathe_. _Swallow_. So many things Steve couldn’t do, until he could again. It took a good minute for him to adjust to the feeling of being filled so completely and find a way to accept it, even enjoy it, and, after a bit, move around it.

He shifted slightly, taking Bucky in just a tiny bit more, and Steve heard Bucky groan the same way he’d once done on the few nights their double dates had ended at someone’s house, when he’d take his girl into another room for some privacy. And just like back then, Steve’s cock stiffened in response, but this time it was okay, because it was Steve who had made Bucky feel so good. He wanted to make Bucky let out every noise Steve had ever heard or imagined, wanted to make him come shouting, buried deep inside him.

“Okay, go, Buck. Do it.”

“Feels okay?” Bucky asked roughly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest. He nuzzled against Steve’s wet hair, then kissed the back of his head.

Steve let his head fall back, stretching his neck and making his voice thin as he responded, “Yeah. Yes. Good. Now move.”

Bucky growled and pulled his hips back, then eased inside again. His hands splayed against Steve’s chest, and he kissed Steve’s shoulder, sending trails of water down Steve’s arm. “Don’t” — Bucky had to drag in a breath as he thrust back inside — “remember it like this. Fuck.”

Face flushing hot, Steve tried to process the flood of sensation and decided it was just this side of the pleasure/pain line. “Like what?” His heart jumped at the thought that he wasn’t good at this and Bucky might no longer want it. Want _him._

“This good. This much.” Another thrust. “Not gonna last.”

The molten pool of desire in his gut erupted and made Steve’s skin flash hot as if scorched. “Oh, God. Yes. Go ahead, Buck. Hard as you want.”

With another growl, Bucky thrust in hard, then did it again and again, and Steve braced against the wall to push back, struggling to match Bucky’s rhythm. The angle wasn’t quite right to hit that spot inside, but the sound of Bucky’s groans more than made up for it. The thrusts turned sharper, harder, faster, until it was all Steve could do to keep from losing his footing on the wet floor. Bucky’s hands hit the wall hard enough to crack the tile, and he let out a deep growl as he thrust deep and stopped moving, cock pulsing inside Steve. Bucky’s teeth closed over Steve’s nape in a bite that was a sharp sting, almost breaking skin.

“Aah. Oh, God, Bucky. You...” Steve was panting, the pleasure of Bucky inside him, the pain of the bite, and the gratification of making Bucky come all swirling inside, making him dizzy.

It took a few long seconds before Bucky released the bite. When he eased out of Steve’s body, his breath caught, and his fingers curled, tearing fractured pieces of tile off the wall, even though his claws weren’t out. The sharp edges drew blood that the water turned to translucent pink streaks down the wall.

“Gimme a minute,” Bucky said, panting.

“You okay?” Steve stood up straight and turned around, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky practically sagged against him, mumbling an answer that was lost against Steve’s skin. He held on tight and leaned against the wall, letting it hold them both up. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Bucky lifted his head just enough to ask, “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, hon. I’m fine.” Again, Steve rubbed his hands up and down Bucky’s back and sides. “I’m perfect.”

“You sure? I mean, I figured you could take more, but I always had to be careful — at least, after Zola’s lab.” Bucky pressed a soft, sloppy kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m good. I’m strong. You know I can handle it.” Steve turned his head and kissed Bucky’s jaw, then pulled his head back slightly to reach Bucky’s mouth. Bucky laughed into the kiss, then laughed again when Steve gasped at the feel of Bucky’s shower-warm metal hand on his cock.

“Want more?” Bucky offered with a perfectly-timed stroke.

“Please, God.” Steve didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed by the reflex to beg. Or the fact that his hips jerked forward and a whine escaped his throat.

He caught one glimpse of Bucky’s grin, cocky and confident and entirely his old self. Then Bucky slid to his knees, hands stopping at Steve’s hips. Steve had about half a heartbeat to realize what Bucky was doing —

And then Bucky’s mouth was around his cock, tongue pressing up against the head as he slid down just an inch or two, then back up, lavishing attention on the head. It felt so good it almost hurt, and Steve would have pulled back if his ass hadn’t been up against the wall. “Fuck. Bucky, Jesus. What...”

That was as far as he got before Bucky took him even deeper — surely _too_ deep. The heat and pressure was better than anything Steve had ever felt. And then it was gone, and Bucky flicked his tongue playfully at the very tip of Steve’s cock. “Want me to stop?”

“Fuck you, jerk.” The smirk on Bucky’s face made Steve break into a smile and rest his head back against the wall. “You’re too fucking good at that.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked smugly.

Before Steve could answer, Bucky took him in again, even deeper this time, and Steve felt a tight contraction around the head as Bucky’s lips closed around the base. Did he just swallow around Steve’s cock? If it hadn’t felt so good, Steve would have worried Bucky was choking. As it was, he couldn’t think as the pleasure stole his breath and his focus and his legs. His hips started to rock, but Bucky had a solid hold on them, pushing them against the wall. When Bucky pulled back and sucked, lighting up Steve’s nerves in a whole new way, his knees almost gave out, and it was only because he was pinned to the wall that he stayed upright.

Steve felt Bucky’s laugh as a huff of air and a vibration that shot right through his body and up his spine. Before he could say anything, though, Bucky began to move his head up and down, driving rational thought out of Steve’s mind. The pleasure built so fast, it left him dizzy, and only the ache in his fingers warned him that he’d fisted his hands in Bucky’s hair, pulling the strands tight. Bucky kept him pinned against the wall, holding him in place, and Steve didn’t know if he needed Bucky to stop and let him catch his breath or to keep going.

Not that he could have found the words. Not when he was right on the edge. A breath in the wrong place could lose the feeling or push him over, so he stopped breathing and silently screamed for release. And thank God that was where Bucky was headed, or Steve would have gone insane.

When that release hit, it was a lightning strike of pleasure like nothing Steve had ever felt, hot and powerful and all-encompassing. Steve cried out until he was hoarse and lost his breath, and his mind blanked, leaving nothing but the feel of Bucky. He swallowed and stopped moving his head, but he kept running his tongue against Steve’s cock until the pleasure threatened to tip over into pain, he was so sensitive.

“Shit.” Steve’s breath finally came out on a curse as he tugged against the sensation, only then remembering his hands were still in Bucky’s hair. “Sorry, sorry. I can’t... Fuck.”

Bucky sat back on his heels and shook his head to get his wet hair out of his eyes. He blinked up at Steve and grinned, asking, “How was that?”

Steve slid down the wall until he was kneeling in front of Bucky and looked him directly in the eye. “You’re a punk, you know that?” He stroked his hands down Bucky’s cheeks and held onto his neck, pulling their heads together until their foreheads touched. “Fucking incredible. C’mere.”

The kiss tasted of his come — Bucky _had_ swallowed. Steve’s mind reeled a bit at the fact that Bucky was willing to — to take Steve in like that. Granted, he’d just had Bucky’s cock in his ass, so he supposed they were even...

“This mean you want to do this again in a couple days?” Bucky asked as the kiss ended.

_Days?_

“I was thinking hours, but if you don’t wanna...”

“Really?” Bucky’s smile was surprised but pleased. “Howard always wanted to wait, ’cause he didn’t want us to get caught. And ’cause he... Oh. Yeah, I guess you _don’t_ need a couple days to recover, huh?”

Steve almost asked what Bucky had done to Howard, but again, he didn’t actually want to know. “No, I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. Didn’t even break the skin.” He rubbed at the bite on his neck and smiled even as Bucky’s smile faded into a concerned frown.

“Shit. Shit, I bit you,” Bucky said, eyes going wide. He pulled at Steve’s shoulder, trying to see. “Fuck, Steve. What if I’d broken skin?”

A jolt of fear went through Steve as he replied, “You said it wouldn’t take if it was human teeth, right? It’s fine.” He wasn’t sure who that last sentence was for: Bucky or himself.

“Yeah, _this_ time...” Bucky shook his head, then wiped his hair out of his eyes. “We can’t do that again. Not without —”

“No. Absolutely not. We are _not_ putting a muzzle on you. I don’t care what you say.” Steve stroked Bucky’s hair, then touched his lips with shaky fingers.

“Steve...” Bucky sighed and kissed Steve’s fingertips. “Then we should have someone with us, for once we’re too distracted. Natasha’s a good shot.”

“No, honey. No.” Steve couldn’t stop touching Bucky’s mouth, even pressing a fingertip between his lips. “I love you. I trust you. I’m fine. Your instincts are good. It’s okay.”

Bucky sighed. “What about Sam, then?”

“Stop.” Steve’s heart jumped at the thought for some reason. He banished it and leaned in to kiss the corner of Bucky’s mouth, then rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip. “I don’t want anyone in the room with us just to keep me safe.”

“Then —” Bucky shifted and pulled a piece of tile out from under himself. “Okay.” he said, getting up into a crouch so he could search for more fragments and shaking his head.

“It’ll be all right, sweetheart. I’m fine. I’m not fragile.” Steve touched Bucky’s chin to bring his eyes up. “I can fight back.”

“You _let_ me bite you,” Bucky muttered with an awkward shrug. “What if I broke skin?”

“It felt amazing. And I thought it was safe. But _what if?_ ” Steve didn’t want to believe that Bucky had lied to him about biting, but Bucky was acting weird enough that he worried.

Bucky glanced at him for just a moment before looking back down at the shower floor. “Do you _want_ to be a werewolf?”

“Bucky, can you or can you not make that happen with your human teeth?”

“I don’t know. I don’t _think_ so, but _I don’t know_.”

_Shit._

“Okay. But... How does it happen? Is it automatic if you break the skin?”

Bucky shrugged, still avoiding Steve’s eyes. “I don’t remember.” He got to his feet and looked out through the glass wall.

It occurred to Steve that either Bucky hadn’t changed someone in a long time, or he had done it under orders and it had been wiped from his memory. “Have you ever intentionally turned someone?”

“I... don’t think so?” Bucky shrugged again. “I don’t think intentionally. Not anyone who lived, anyway. I don’t remember feeling anyone else like that, after my first pack.”

Steve had no desire to let their lovemaking be ruled by fear. It would ruin them slowly if they didn’t trust themselves and each other. But he had no idea how to get Bucky’s brain off of this. “If in all your time of fighting and killing you’ve never turned someone, I don’t think you should be worried about turning me.”

“I never had the chance,” Bucky insisted. “I was either restrained or in cryo, on a mission or not. It’s safer that way.”

None of that was an option. Steve got up from the floor and walked over to Bucky, then rested his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “It’s safer if you trust me to not let you hurt me. And I’ll trust that you don’t want to cause me pain. And between the two of us, we’ll be okay. All right?”

Bucky nodded, still refusing to meet Steve’s eyes, and held out his hand with the fragments of tile. “I broke the wall.”

“It’s okay. I tear apart a heavy bag once every few days. It’s fine. You didn’t break me.” Steve leaned in to kiss Bucky’s temple and took the broken tiles from his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. You want dinner?”

“Yeah. You gonna cook?”

He didn’t even have to nod, though he did anyway. It felt like old times to take care of Bucky that way, and it made warmth steal up Steve’s spine. “Whatever you want, Buck.”


	19. Chapter 19

Waking up from a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed hadn’t happened in days. Possibly more than a week. Waking up with another person in the bed hadn’t happened in decades, since Steve had been a kid. Waking up cuddling with a wolf had never happened before.

They hadn’t gone to sleep like that. Bucky had shifted and lounged around his apartment in his fur while Steve made dinner, and they’d eaten on the floor, then curled up on the couch to watch TV. Steve had been happily pinned under the huge wolf form and petted him as they both started to nod off watching some police procedural about solving murders or something. But when they’d crawled into bed, Steve had asked Bucky to put on his skin so they could cuddle naked. He’d fallen asleep with Bucky’s head on his chest, his hand buried in long strands of hair.

Now, he rubbed at his face to get rid of the ticklish sensation of fur and lifted his head to regard what little he could see of the wolf who’d stolen most of his pillow during the night. Bucky’s muzzle and the top of his head were all that was visible. He’d sprawled across the entire bed, taking up far more of it than was reasonable, and the only reason Steve hadn’t fallen off was because he’d spooned around Bucky’s back.

Which put Bucky’s tail awkwardly down between Steve’s legs — something Steve remedied immediately by inching back. Bucky’s only reaction was a huff and a little wriggle, as if he were nestling deeper under the blankets.

It put a smile on Steve’s face to see that Bucky was enjoying comfort and security, and that Steve’s presence was familiar enough not to put Bucky on alert, even in wolf form. He reached under the blankets and dragged his hand down the fur of Bucky’s side a couple times. Bucky twisted onto his back, legs splayed up under the covers, head thrown back. He let out a definite snort, but Steve wasn’t sure if he was awake or just sleep-cuddling.

“Hey, pal,” he whispered, his hand on Bucky’s chest. “Good morning.”

Bucky’s jaws opened, showing bright white fangs, deadly sharp. He lifted his head, then let it flop back down with a deep sigh and gave little wriggle against Steve’s hand.

“Yes, I will pet you, now I know you’re awake and not about to bite my hand off when startled.” He scratched Bucky’s belly for a bit, just to make his leg lose control and bounce, until he found skin under his hand, rather than fur.

“Hey. Quit,” Bucky complained between huffed laughs as he grabbed for Steve’s wrist.

“Ticklish? You’re a _ticklish_ werewolf? You dork.” Steve grinned as he leaned in to kiss Bucky’s cheek and pushed against Bucky’s restraining hand to try and reach his stomach.

“It itches,” Bucky whined, twisting around on top of Steve, which made him want to flip them both over, until he decided pinning Bucky down was probably a bad idea.

He lay still on his back, letting Bucky hold his hands down, and said, “Not my fault you have all that fur. C’mere.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve, then huffed in irritation and turned away. “Humans need toothbrushes,” he muttered, burying his face against Steve’s neck instead. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I... hey, wait a second. You’re complaining about my morning breath when you woke up with wolf-mouth? Get off.” Steve pushed playfully at Bucky, but held onto his arms so he couldn’t actually go anywhere.

“I had a shower yesterday. I’m the cleanest wolf around,” Bucky said, letting himself go limp on top of Steve. He was surprisingly heavy — possibly even heavier than Steve himself. It couldn’t all be the weight of his metal arm. Maybe his bones were more dense.

“Correction: you fucked me in the shower, not even once thinking about soap or shampoo.” Bucky’s head came up at Steve’s words, and Steve grinned at the look in his eyes. “And if you’re not gonna fuck me right now, or let me fuck you, then it’s —”

“What?” Bucky interrupted, his look of sharp interest giving way to confusion.

“What’s the matter? Do you not want...”

_Oh, God._

After a couple days, Steve’s ingrained response to seeing confusion on Bucky’s face was panic. If Steve was losing Bucky to his conditioning right now...

Had Bucky been interfered with when he was HYDRA’s pet assassin? If any one of them had forced himself on Bucky, Steve was going to create a special level of hell and then send every last one of them straight to it.

He gently rubbed Bucky’s sides as he softened his voice and said, “Do me a favor, honey, and answer me truthfully?”

Bucky frowned, even more confused. “Yeah. Sure.”

Steve figured it was best to be as straightforward as possible with his line of questioning. He wanted to be sure. “Did your handlers ever make you do anything... sexual?”

Bucky blinked down at him. “That’s what the Black Widow program was for, I think. Covert ops. I’m an assassin, remember?”

For a second, Steve didn’t understand Bucky’s response. The first thing that came to mind was Nat’s insistence that she and Bucky had never done anything. Then he thought about Nat’s way of infiltrating. Had Black Widow been made for seduction?

He’d have to think more on that later.

“No one ever wanted you to please them outside of your brief?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. Why?”

_Thank Christ._

“Just checking. Okay. Have you ever been entered, like you did to me yesterday? Ever had the roles reversed?”

Again, Bucky shook his head. “No. Howard never wanted to, I guess? But he really liked it. He even had something for his girlfriends to wear, to do that to him.”

Shaking his head to get that image out of his head, because he’d never stay on task like that, Steve said, “He’s the only man you’ve done stuff with?” That question wasn’t even on task — it was just the only other thing in Steve’s head.

“Other than you, yeah. I don’t _think_ anything happened with the pack, but that wouldn’t count, anyway,” Buck said with a shrug.

“Why not?” At this point the questions just came, unbidden.

“’Cause we were all together, sort of. What happened to one of us, happened to all of us.” Bucky shrugged. “If any of that was sex, I don’t remember it, though.”

Well, _that_ was fascinating, and something to think through further. But Steve had had a point when he’d started this line of questioning, and by God, he was going to get to it. “Okay, then, last question: Do you want to be on the receiving end?”

Bucky shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

At least Steve hadn’t gotten ‘I don’t remember’ or ‘I get confused’, but this answer wasn’t that much more helpful. “Okay, well... Let me know if you ever want to try it?”

“Do you?”

It could have been that it was first thing in the morning, before coffee, but the question sounded legitimate, not like Bucky was just trying to defer to Steve’s preference instead of deciding for himself. He tried not to disrupt the honesty streak, but he didn’t want to pressure Bucky into anything, either. “I’ve never done it, so I don’t know what it’s like or if I’d enjoy it.” He shrugged. “Hell, I’d never done the other thing until yesterday...”

“Do you want to try?” Bucky pressed, frowning even more.

Reaching up to touch Bucky’s face and drag a thumb across his furrowed brow hoping to smooth it out, Steve said, “Not if it’s going to worry you like this. I sorta thought it might work just as well as what we’d done, but we don’t have to.”

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do, like that. Howard never told me — or if he did, I don’t remember.” Bucky shrugged. “Can you?”

“I’m not sure I was doing it right, if there is a ‘right’, but I can tell you what I did. And if you can teach me how to hit that ‘on’ button inside, we should be good.” Steve smiled fondly at Bucky and rubbed his lower back.

“Okay.” Bucky rolled off Steve and onto his side. “Where? Beds creak too much, Howard said.”

Steve rolled onto his side to face Bucky and brushed his fingers lightly over Bucky’s cheek. “One: Howard’s word isn’t gospel, so we don’t have to follow it to the letter. Especially because _I’m not Howard_. Two: We don’t have to worry about being caught, because everyone already knows.”

Bucky tensed, catching Steve’s hand. “I thought you _didn’t_ want them to know. How’d they find out?”

Steve sighed at having to admit his own ineptitude. “They saw how I am with you and jumped to the obvious conclusion. I just hadn’t figured that one out yet. Sorry it took me so long, hon.”

“Then we’re okay?” Bucky asked worriedly. “You’re not mad that they know?”

Steve took hold of Bucky’s hand and pulled so he could kiss Bucky’s knuckles, then brush his lips back and forth over them. “Not mad. Still don’t want anyone watching, but we’re definitely okay.”

Bucky’s frown disappeared, and a faint smile took its place. “Okay. How do we start?”

Steve grinned at Bucky and nudged him onto his back while leaning over to kiss his lips and chin and throat. “On the bed, for one.”

 

~~~

 

 _Fuck_.

“Yes. Jesus, Buck. You —  Like that. Fuck....”

After the first push and tumble of words, Steve couldn’t process speech or anything else besides the tightness of Bucky around him. His eyes were squeezed shut and his racing pulse was loud in his ears, and he had no idea if Bucky liked it, except that his body accepted Steve inside.

He stopped the moment the head of his cock fit in. He caught his breath, finding voice enough to ask, “Okay?”

Bucky nodded, taking deep, tense breaths. “Yeah.” It came out as a growl. His hands were fisted in the pillows, and Steve spared a moment to hope that his claws weren’t out.

It was probably a really bad idea for Steve to condition his body to be intensely aroused every time he heard a growl, but at the moment he had no choice. That sound did it for him. If he'd moved right then it would have been over already. Now Steve understood what Bucky meant about needing to hear him. He hoped to God the walls were thick in this building.

“Gimme another sec, all right?” Steve slid his palm from Bucky’s hip up his back to curl around his right shoulder.

Bucky nodded again. Steve found himself staring at the shift of muscles in Bucky’s back — at the scarring along the metal plates that arced down over his shoulder — and he remembered Tony’s question about getting a look at Bucky’s arm. It was like no prosthetic Steve had ever seen. It was a part of Bucky, as if it were _actually_ his arm.

Tentatively, Steve moved his other hand to Bucky’s metal shoulder. He squeezed, and Bucky reacted with a subtle twitch, as if he could feel it.

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?” He wasn’t sure whether he was asking about the arm or his cock inside Bucky, but either way he needed to hear the answer.

“No. Feels strange. Keep going.”

Steve took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts to push further in, slowly and steadily. There was resistance but not too much — he’d used a whole palmful of lube so everything was really slick. The tightness short-circuited Steve’s brain as it enveloped him, just on the edge of too much pressure for such sensitive tissue. “Bucky...”

This time, he _felt_ Bucky’s slow, steady breathing. “Yeah. Keep going,” Bucky said more roughly, with a hint of a growl in his voice.

"Shit. Yeah. Okay." He was glad he knew for sure that Bucky was strong enough to take him in, because he didn't understand how it was possible. From this end, everything felt totally different. He wasn't even that big, but there were still a couple inches to go. “Fuck, you feel good.”

When his hips pressed against Bucky's ass he sighed and bent over to kiss Bucky’s back. Bucky let out a startled cry, shoving back hard enough to almost push Steve away. Then he lifted his head, panting for breath, and said, “Steve. Again, Steve.”

He must’ve hit the on button. The urgent need in Bucky’s voice definitely turned _Steve_ on, so he tried to follow orders as best he could. He propped his hands on the mattress on either side of Bucky’s chest, trying to maintain whatever angle he’d found, and drew back slowly, feeling every inch of drag. It sparked fireworks behind his eyes before he’d even pushed in again, hoping to hit the right spot.

Bucky’s low growl sounded almost like a purr, though it wasn’t quite loud enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. Steve’s eyes flew open, and he saw bits of foam tumble out of rents in the pillow where Bucky’s claws had dug in.

_Shit._

The sight shot adrenaline through Steve’s system, which made the pleasure he felt go sharp and his skin prickle, but he also grinned at having made Bucky lose that much control. Steve knew a shift, even a tiny one, was more dangerous than exciting, and he’d promised to be careful, but at that moment it didn’t matter. All he cared about was getting Bucky to growl even more. Well, he cared about that _and_ chasing the pleasure that promised to undo him — to split him open and pour him out like liquid, leaving him empty.

He pulled out and thrust back in, still unsure of how exactly to make Bucky fall apart, needing the friction and movement for himself. And once he started, he couldn’t stop. He thrust harder and faster until he knelt back up so he could hold Bucky’s hips still. The pleasure was nothing like the feel of a hand —  his own or someone else’s — and barely at all like what Bucky had done for him yesterday with his mouth.

Then Bucky shifted his weight onto his right hand and lifted the left out of the shredded pillow. The claws were gone, Steve saw, right before Bucky reached down between his own legs. Bucky’s next growl was definitely full of pleasure, and he started to move his hips, thrusting against his own hand. It changed the rhythm of what Steve was doing and had them moving together with a bit more purpose.

At least it gave Steve something to focus on. He wanted to last as long as Bucky needed him to, and it was getting harder to ride the edge of pleasure without falling off into orgasm.

Breathlessly, he asked, “What d’you need, Buck?”

It was hard to understand Bucky’s growled answer, but Steve thought he said, _“More.”_ And that he could definitely do. He reached over and took hold of Bucky’s shoulders, one cool under his hand, one hot, and began thrusting hard and deep into Bucky. He wanted more contact, not just more friction — he wanted to kiss Bucky while they fucked. He wanted to feel Bucky’s whole body against his, but there was no time. They both needed release. And Steve wasn’t good enough at this to multitask. Not yet.

Not when the pleasure built until it drowned out everything else. Soon there was nothing in the world for Steve but Bucky’s body beneath him and around him, and there was nothing to do but seek out the pleasure inside and bring it to light — let it break free. As he got close, Steve leaned down to press his face to Bucky’s hot back, his tongue and teeth dragging against sweaty skin. Bucky growled, hand working faster, until the growl broke into a sharp whine. Bucky’s back arched, and he pushed hard onto Steve’s cock, body clenching tighter.

The shift in angle, pressure, and rhythm threw Steve off balance, and he landed draped over Bucky’s shuddering body. The feel and sound of his release made Steve’s next few thrusts light everything up, cracking open the floodgates and tumbling Steve over into a climax like nothing he’d ever known. It pulled him under and stopped his breath, a soundless cry stuck in his throat as the pleasure pierced through the center of him and radiated outward to encompass every last nerve ending.

When he came back to himself, he was clutching Bucky to his chest and gasping for air. Bucky was panting just as hard, but somehow he found the breath to ask, “What’d you do different?”

Steve’s lips were against Bucky’s nape, mouth open and breath puffing hot onto Bucky’s sweat-slick skin. He couldn’t think about much else until his heartbeat slowed a bit, so the question made no sense. “Different from what?”

“What I did, with you and Howard.” Bucky shifted, pulling free of Steve’s arms so he could drop onto his side, away from the mess on the bed.

The motion pulled Steve out of Bucky, and the drag on his oversensitive cock made him whimper. He fell over next to Bucky to continue pressing up against his back. “I have no idea, hon. I don’t know what I’m doing. You coached me through all the hard parts.”

Bucky shrugged. “Howard said a guy couldn’t keep it up like that, only I did. You must’ve done something different.”

Propping himself up to try and see Bucky’s face, Steve kissed his metal shoulder while peering over it. “But... I did too, when you were in me. I was hard almost the whole time.” He decided not to mention that a lot of that was due to the noises Bucky made during sex, because he was a little embarrassed by it.

“You were?” Bucky asked, twisting to give Steve a startled look. “But it’s not... Maybe it’s the serum?”

Steve shrugged. “Dunno. Was it okay like that, or...?”

“Yeah. Kinda more efficient, too.” Bucky let out a shaky little laugh that turned into a smirk. “Now you’ve got time to brush your teeth before you make me that coffee.”

A shove and a grin accompanied Steve’s response. “ _You’re_ making coffee, ’cause I’m cooking breakfast. And I’m not so fond of wolf-breath, so come brush with me.”

“I dunno how to make coffee.” Bucky shoved back, then twisted and rolled off the bed, landing on all fours, in his fur. His jaws opened in a wolfy grin, and he barked at Steve. It didn’t sound like a dog’s bark. Too high, too fast.

“Careful, pal, or I’ll only make enough for myself. Besides, you can’t drink it as a wolf.” Steve crawled out of bed and stretched, then decided a quick shower was in order before anything else. “Gonna rinse off. You can join me if you’re in your skin.” He ruffled Bucky’s ears as he passed on the way to the bathroom.

Bucky let out a huff, then followed Steve to the bathroom. He didn’t change form, though, so Steve figured he was showering alone, which meant he’d be much more efficient. It took him less than five minutes to clean up without a wolf crowding the space or a naked assassin distracting him.

When Steve stepped out again to dry off, Bucky was sprawled out on the bathmat, and Steve couldn’t help crouching down to scratch his fur, from his neck down his sides. There were still way too many mats in his fur — especially behind his ears and along his belly. Steve wondered if anyone had ever looked after Bucky’s thick coat. “Looks like you need a good grooming, pal. Wanna let me try?”

Bucky tipped his head and shot Steve a skeptical sort of look, though his ears didn’t flatten and his tail kept swishing lazily. That seemed like a definite maybe.

Steve smiled encouragingly. “I’ll be gentle. And whenever you want me to stop, just say so.” A quick search of the bathroom drawers provided nothing more sturdy than plastic combs — ones that would never make it through Bucky’s thick coat without snapping. “Ah, JARVIS? Where would I find a good comb and brush for Bucky’s fur?”

“I believe I can manufacture something suitable, Captain. If you’d proceed to Mr. Stark’s workshop, they should be printed shortly.”

“Modern conveniences...” Steve still hadn’t gotten used to 3-D printing, but he had to admit it was a quick fix for a lot of problems. He looked down at Bucky and scratched his chin. “I’ll start the coffee before I go. This might take most of the morning, but I’m definitely not complaining about having my hands on you that long.”


	20. Chapter 20

It took almost four hours for Steve to brush through Bucky’s coat, but that included their pause halfway through for breakfast. When he was done, the entire living room was covered in fur, though he’d tried to keep most of it in one pile on the floor, and even that pile was the size of a dog.

Little tufts of fur like tumbleweeds blew across the room every time Steve moved, and his own clothing was thick with it. His arms and face and head had a dusting of hairs too, and his nose was constantly being tickled by something he couldn’t get off his face with his fur-covered hands. It wasn’t worth taking a shower until he’d cleaned up most of the mess, so he just dealt with feeling like he needed to sneeze all the time.

Bucky was certainly no help. He sprawled wherever Steve put him, rolling onto his back or sides, giving Steve access to every furry inch of him. A couple of times, Steve suspected he fell asleep — the sounds he made were a little too close to snoring to be growls. The only times he showed any sign of alertness were when Steve had to give up on combing to actually cut off fur that was too matted to detangle — mostly around his legs and behind his ears, where the undercoat was soft as silk.

When Steve did finally sneeze, blowing a small dust storm of fur a few feet closer to the now-hairy couch, he gave up. “JARVIS? Tell me there’s a vacuum that can handle this mess somewhere in the tower?”

“I can route the vacuum bots to the residential level from Mr. Stark’s workshop. If that proves insufficient, I’ll notify the cleaning staff,” the computer answered.

Thank God Steve had thought to close the bedroom door before he started. They could hide out in there while the bots worked. “Sounds great. Thanks.” He tried to scrape most of the huge pile of fur up off the carpet and then stood to throw it in the trash.

Bucky lifted his head and gave a pathetic whine of protest. He rolled onto his belly and slapped his metal paw down on the brush.

“Don’t you dare move. I’ll be right back.” Steve dumped the dog-sized ball of fur in the kitchen trash can, then came back over to Bucky and knelt down to smooth his hands over the fluffy coat, trying to catch as much flyaway fur as he could.

“Captain?” JARVIS interrupted tentatively.

That didn’t bode well. “What’s wrong?” Steve was in the middle of collecting another two huge handfuls of fur off Bucky’s coat, so for once he didn’t look up at the speaker in the ceiling.

“Under the sink, there should be a pair of chemical resistant rubber gloves. My research states that those should assist in gathering fur.”

“Thanks, JARVIS. I could try that?” Steve looked down at Bucky, questioningly. It didn’t sound very comfortable, but whatever worked...

Bucky wagged his tail, sending gusts of even more fur up into the air.

“Oh, my God, stop. Bucky...” Steve stood and exhaled sharply through his nose to try to get rid of the tickle. “Don’t move. We’ll see if that works on you and maybe the couch.” Another trip to the trash can, and then Steve grabbed the gloves and brought them over to where Bucky lay, head down between his paws, watching Steve.

And the instant Steve crouched down, Bucky surged right for Steve, tackling him onto his back. The breath whooshed from Steve’s lungs as Bucky’s weight crashed down. He managed one gasp before Bucky started licking his face like mad, panting as though laughing.

“What the hell?” Steve huffed, exasperated, then laughed at the cloud of fur that had been kicked up and the fact that, at the moment, wolf spit was preferable to a million tiny hairs all over his face. He tried to crane his neck to get his face out of Bucky’s reach, but it didn’t work. Then he tried pushing Bucky off him — and he also failed at that, because suddenly the wolf was _a lot_ bigger.

“More brushing?” Bucky growled on, jaws open and just inches away from Steve’s face.

_Fuck._

Losing his breath all over again, Steve’s heart banged hard against his ribs, and he struggled against his knee-jerk reaction to fight. This was Bucky — the person he had loved longest in his life. This was just also a seven-foot-tall werewolf strong enough to rip him in two, close enough to eat him whole.

_This was Bucky._

Steve knew this. His heart started to behave just as Bucky rolled off him and sprawled on his back, poking insistently at Steve’s arm with the back of one metal claw.

Turning his head to the side to look at Bucky’s face, Steve said, “I can’t do it all over again for this form. That would take even longer.”

“But _Steve_ ,” Bucky complained, poking even more. And despite the instinctive terror inspired by his battle-form, Steve melted a little bit when Bucky’s head flopped back with another _oh-poor-me_ whine.

The voice was close enough to Bucky’s, and the face was almost exactly the wolf’s, and the combination of the two meant that this form was easily recognizable to Steve. Once he let go of the fear and reminded himself that even in this form, the moment Bucky recognized Steve he’d stopped trying to hurt him, Steve could see the werewolf as _his_ Bucky. It didn’t take much — just a deep breath and a silent reminder — but he knew he was still dealing with an incredibly strong, deadly creature, no matter how intimate he was with the other forms.

Keeping his movements deliberate and obvious, Steve rolled over and, heart in his throat, he straddled Bucky’s massive body, looking down at Bucky’s chin. Again, without sudden movements, he reached to bury his fingers in the fur at Bucky’s throat and scratched gently, feeling even more mats under fur that was longer and silkier than his wolf form. Then he leaned forward to speak low near Bucky’s ear. “You need something to look forward to tomorrow. I’m _not_ spending eight hours today grooming you.”

“But it _itches_ ,” Bucky said, turning his head so he could eye Steve. His battle-form was utter shit at looking pathetic, but he gave it a good try all the same.

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the attempt. “And you’re already the most spoiled werewolf in existence.”

Bucky’s jaw opened just a little bit more. “You don’t know _every_ werewolf.”

“You’re a horrible negotiator. The answer is no. I’ll pet you, but I can’t comb you all over again. Besides, it’ll require me using sharp scissors near sensitive areas. You’d have to promise the claws stayed away.”

“Make restraints, like you made these?” he asked, tapping a claw down on one of the brushes that JARVIS had printed.

“No, baby. I can’t tie you up.” Steve stroked Bucky’s cheek and neck. “I won’t do that to you.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, pushing into Steve’s touch. “Hell, Howard liked it.”

Steve blinked for a moment, hoping he just hadn’t gotten used to Bucky speaking with his wolf’s mouth and had heard that wrong. But in the end he was too curious to let it go. “Liked tying you down or being tied down?”

“Being tied down.” Bucky huffed out a breath like a laugh. “He liked a lot of things. He wasn’t anything like the girls we dated.”

Trying to not let his imagination go to truly disturbing places — and refusing to take the bait and ask — Steve latched onto the safer response. “The girls _you_ dated. I was just along for the ride.”

“Not my choice.” Bucky lifted his head and lowered his muzzle so he could meet Steve’s eyes. His hands, huge and clawed, settled on Steve’s back.

“Not mine, either. You knew I could never say no to you...” Steve shook his head, refusing to regret actions — or non-actions — from so many decades ago.

Bucky’s jaw dropped open as much as possible in his awkward position. “I remember that. I remember wanting you on all my dates. Right?”

“Yep. And you could always find two girls, both of whom would have made it with you in a heartbeat.” Steve tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he was finally understanding why those nights were so hard — and why he could never refuse them. Bucky’s girl would always get what he himself wanted, but witnessing it — being that close to it — had felt like some sort of solace. A shiver ran down his spine at the realization, and he tried not to inwardly curse himself at his stupidity and cowardice.

Bucky exhaled, sharp and hot, and the tips of his claws poked through Steve’s T-shirt to touch skin. “Wanted _you_ ,” he muttered.

“You _had_ me, Buck. Why do you think I got so desperate to join up when they took you? It would have been torture to hang around at home without you.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s waist with his knees and rested his hands on Bucky’s huge, hairy chest. He didn’t want to be dwelling on the past like this, but their size difference at the moment reminded him of that time, when he’d been small.

“Stupid,” Bucky declared confidently, hugging Steve close. His arms were strong enough to make Steve’s ribs creak.

“Saved you anyway, jerk.” It came out strained and almost breathless as Steve tried to get enough air and failed.

“You did?” Bucky’s grip relaxed, but only for a moment. Then, as he crushed Steve once more, he whispered, “Yeah. You did. Idiot.”

“I was the smartest guy _in_ that outfit... And your boyfriend was the idiot who flew me behind enemy lines, so get over it.” Steve flexed his arm muscles to try to ease Bucky’s hold around him, and it gave him a couple inches of room.

“I guess I’ve got a thing for stupid idiots.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly and said, “Gee, thanks. Just stay away from Stark — Tony, I mean. His partner’s not to be trifled with.”

“Huh?” Bucky’s ears twitched, and he dropped his muzzle even more so he could look Steve directly in the eyes.

“Tony Stark. The irritating one in the red and gold suit. Haven’t you noticed the resemblance?”

“He’s Howard’s _kid?_ ”

Grinning at the shock in Bucky’s tone, Steve nodded. “Thought you’d caught that —”

He cut off as, abruptly, Bucky shifted, shrinking back into wolf form. Worried about hurting him, Steve twisted away, and Bucky kicked to roll over onto his belly, then up onto all fours. His head and tail hung down, and his sides were heaving with deep fast breaths.

Steve knelt up and stroked his hand down Bucky’s back, concern flaring up within him. “Hey, I’m sorry. You okay? I didn’t mean to...” It struck him that he might not be welcome at the moment, and he sat back on his heels, pulling his hand away. “I’ll go if you...”

Bucky shook his head and turned, almost staggering. He leaned against Steve, burying his head under Steve’s arm, and tried to climb into his lap.

“Okay, okay, hang on.” With hands deep in the fluffy fur of Bucky’s nape, Steve repositioned so he was sitting crosslegged, his back against the couch. “Come on.”

Thankfully, Dr. Erskine’s serum meant Steve could breathe despite the weight of the werewolf that crawled on top of him, and he didn’t have to worry about getting gouged by claws as Bucky scrambled. He was trembling, ears flat, tail tucked under himself.

With absolutely no idea why Bucky was so upset, Steve felt at a loss as to how he could comfort his massive wolf of a best friend. He defaulted to stroking Bucky’s fur and murmuring sweetly in his ear, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Everything’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.”

It took time, but Bucky’s racing heart slowed, and his tense muscles unlocked. His deep breaths became shallower and more natural. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved again and settled more comfortably in Steve’s lap.

Steve heaved a sigh of his own and scratched between Bucky’s ears, letting himself fall into that calm place that being with wolf-Bucky could take him. He fell silent and just sat with his hands moving automatically over Bucky’s body, and had reached an almost meditative place when he was startled by a knock on the door.

Bucky lifted his head, but only for a moment before he settled his jaw back down again, resting it on Steve’s shoulder.

“Come in?” Steve called. If Bucky wasn’t bothered by whoever was outside his door, and everyone in the whole tower was a friend of Steve’s, who was he to ask first before having them enter?

The door opened, and Sam stepped in, calling, “Hey, Bucky...” Then he laughed, and asked, “Uh, Steve, that you under there?”

Smiling even though he knew Sam couldn’t see it, Steve said, “Yeah, come on in. We had a rough moment earlier, but I think everything’s okay now.”

Sam closed the door and crossed over to the furry living room, grinning. He crouched down and held out a hand, saying, “You know, Buck, you’re a little big to pretend you’re a poodle or something.” Bucky turned and huffed at Sam, who laughed and ran a hand down Bucky’s back.

“Oh, yeah. The grooming. He was all matted. I was trying to clean up when we got distracted.” Steve felt his face flush and hoped he was still mostly hidden from Sam’s gaze.

“Yeah. You’re taking up knitting, right? ’Cause you’ve got to do something with all this fur...”

“I was thinking we could make another werewolf, you know, in case one wasn’t enough.” Steve meant it to be a joke, but when he got to the end of his statement he felt Bucky go tense and remembered how alone he felt. Steve leaned close to Bucky’s ear and whispered, “I’m sorry, hon. I know. I didn’t mean...” He shook his head and stroked the fur on Bucky’s neck in apology.

As Sam settled down against the couch, he brushed his hand along Steve’s and met his eyes over Bucky’s back. Gently, Sam offered, “You two want to talk about it?”

Steve couldn’t really shrug with Bucky on top of him, but he tried. “That’s Bucky’s choice.” He turned his head to address Bucky. “Honey, if you don’t want to shift, I can do the talking. Whatever you want.”

Bucky shook his head and hunched over, sliding off Steve’s lap as he shifted into his skin. He ended up sitting on the floor between Steve and Sam, legs pulled up to his chest. He stared down, wrapping his arms around his legs, and shook his head again, saying, “I didn’t know.”

Looking up at Sam, baffled, Steve made sure his voice was calm when he said, “Know what, Buck?”

“Howard.” Bucky dragged in a breath. “He had a son. Anthony.”

Hearing Tony’s full name pricked panic over Steve’s skin, and he wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. That was information _he_ hadn’t given Bucky. Whatever had spooked him was something he’d experienced in some other way. “Yes. Tony Stark.”

“Howard —” Bucky cut off. Swallowed. “He’s dead.”

“Yeah, Buck. In the early nineties, when Tony was about twenty. But you know almost everyone from that time is dead.” Steve kept his voice mild and rubbed his hand up and down Bucky’s arm, elbow to shoulder.

Bucky opened his eyes and lifted his head just a little, seeming to brace himself. “Car accident. They said it was brake failure. It wasn’t.”

A jumble of images from Zola’s lab flashed before Steve’s eyes — the implication that HYDRA had caused certain events. A red star on silver metal. A headline with Howard’s face. “Oh, God. Bucky.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky’s temple, not wanting him to say it out loud.

“He — He was working on a weapon.” Bucky closed his eyes again. “Worse than a nuclear bomb.”

“Stark Industries was big in weapons until just a couple years back,” Sam said uncertainly, giving Steve a questioning look.

Bucky nodded, and his voice dropped to a harsh whisper as he said, “That’s why he had to die.”

“So they handed you his file. And he didn’t look familiar?” If Bucky hadn’t recognized Steve until he’d said Bucky’s own name to him, that made sense, it just made Steve’s entire insides knot up.

Bucky shook his head. If he answered, it was lost in the sound of his deep, rapid breaths.

Steve kissed Bucky’s head again and stroked his hair. “I’m so sorry.” When he glanced over at Sam, he shrugged, giving Steve a baffled frown. Steve realized Sam didn’t have enough puzzle pieces to follow this at all. He tried to clarify, “Howard and Bucky... Well, we all knew each other during the war.”

“Aw, damn,” Sam said quietly, putting his arm over Steve’s.

“I killed him,” Bucky said, tightening his arms around his legs. “I killed him.”

“Baby, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t even you. Or, all of you. You didn’t know.” Steve wrapped his other arm around Bucky’s shins and held him tight, encompassing his whole, balled-up body. “It’s _not_ your fault. You didn’t even know _me_.”

“Yeah. You weren’t in your right mind,” Sam said in a soothing voice, though he shot Steve a questioning look, as if asking if he was on the right track.

_Shit._

Sam didn’t know about _any_ of this. Steve looked over at him and winced as he said, “Not if they kept wiping your memory, hon.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Damn. Aw, damn, Bucky,” he said gently, his expression heartbroken. “Look, this is a lot to deal with. You want to take wolf form for a little while? Help you relax, maybe?”

Gratitude flooded through Steve at hearing Sam’s suggestion. He nodded and slowly let go of Bucky, petting his hair as it turned to fur, still fluffy from the all the grooming. Bucky curled up between them, with his muzzle tucked under Steve’s leg and his tail over Sam’s foot.

As always, Steve’s fingers buried themselves in Bucky’s neck fur. He looked up at Sam, who was petting Bucky’s side, and murmured, “Thanks, Sam.”

“I gotta be useful for something around here,” Sam said with a wry smile. “I mean, compared to all of you, it’s pet the werewolf or order pizza. Which should probably be my next offer.”

“Not a bad offer, to be honest. If you don’t have to move to carry it out.” Steve smiled softly at Sam. “And for the record, having you here is better than the rest of the Avengers combined.”

Sam’s smile turned into a quick grin. “Maybe a little less crazy. What do you say, Bucky?” he asked, twitching a finger along Bucky’s ear. When the wolf turned to eye him, he asked, “Think you and me can keep these people in line?”

Bucky’s only answer was an exhale, at first. But then, his tail wagged — just once, just a little bit, but it was an encouraging sign all the same.

“Somebody’s gotta. And I’m a little preoccupied.” Steve was sure his relieved smile had gotten a little goofy as he scratched under Bucky’s chin, but he didn’t care.

“Want a pizza, Bucky?” Sam offered. When he got another tail-wag, he looked up and said, “JARVIS, you with us?”

“Yes, Sam,” the computer answered.

“Any good pizza places deliver here?”

“While under normal circumstances, I would never suggest following Mr. Stark’s preferences for anything save explosives, his favorite pizza place does have top ratings on Yelp,” JARVIS said.

Sam shot Steve a grin. “Think we’re safe with that, or should we stick with Dominos?”

“Even _I_ know Dominos is a horrible idea. Go with what Tony likes. Pretty sure Bucky’ll eat anything in wolf form.” Steve scratched Bucky’s ears vigorously.

Bucky turned to look at Steve. Deliberately, he huffed again and turned up his muzzle.

Steve was so charmed he couldn’t keep himself from leaning over to kiss Bucky’s head. “Oh, please. If I hadn’t taken that box of Frosted Flakes off your face, you would’ve started chewing on the cardboard.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, as he polished off the last couple bites of his pizza. “I think I’m gonna try to get Sam to move into my place. His is falling apart, and I’m never there. Sound okay to you?”

Bucky lifted his head out of his pizza box — and so much for the grooming Steve had done. His muzzle was covered with pizza sauce, and his efforts to lick the cheese had just stuck it into his fur. He wagged his tail before happily diving back into the pizza. Apparently the ‘meat-lover’s special’ had been a good plan.

“I’d say something about the virtues of renovation or upcycling, but a cupboard fell off the wall earlier,” Sam said, getting to his feet. He left half of his pizza in the box on the floor. Bucky immediately reached out with a paw and pulled the box closer to where he was sprawled.

“Well, you may be gaining a living space, but you’re about to lose your pizza to the apex predator,” Steve warned Sam as he picked up his own empty box and gently swatted Bucky’s rump with it. Bucky’s snarl wasn’t very convincing, considering he had half a slice of pizza hanging out of his mouth at that moment.

“Yeah, well, he’s _your_ apex predator, so you get to be the one who puts him on a diet,” Sam warned, making a show of getting out of reach of them both.

“The trick is getting enough exercise.” Steve grinned down at Bucky as he started to carry the trash to the kitchen. “We’ll be right back, pal.” Bucky didn’t look like he would even notice they were gone, so Steve just beckoned Sam to follow him out after the trash detour.

It was about ten steps from Bucky’s door to his. When they entered the apartment Steve meant to say something persuasive to get Sam to move in, but all that came out was, “I’m really never here, so someone should make use of it.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam walked past Steve and looked around. The apartment wasn’t nearly as nice as Bucky’s, but it was definitely a step up from Sam’s. “So, are you moving in with Bucky, or am I missing something?”

“I... guess?” Steve’s ears felt hot, but there was a decided lack of shame in him. “I don’t actually have anything to move in, but we don’t really spend much time apart...” He had no idea how to explain to Sam what had happened in the past twenty-four hours.

Sam put a hand on the kitchen island and gave it a push, as if expecting it to collapse. When it held up under his weight, he turned to face Steve and leaned against it. “You want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable...” Steve ran his hand through his hair. “But, well, we started sleeping together.” He couldn’t quite make eye contact as he huffed out a breath.

“How do you feel about that?”

Steve stopped himself before he could say _fucking incredible,_ but he couldn’t help grinning as he answered, “Good. I think it’s good. Not that I’d know the difference, but...”

Sam laughed. “So, you have a better idea of your sexuality now?”

“All I know is I want to be with Bucky. And I guess I have for a long time, but I didn’t understand it. Or think it was possible, even though it was. It _is._ ”

“Good.” Sam nodded, resting his hands against the edge of the countertop as he studied Steve. “I take it he’s okay with you two being in a relationship? Or is it all about the brushing for him?” he added with a grin.

“Yeah, I’m not sure. I thought he liked me for my body. Now I think it’s for my patience with matted fur.” When Sam laughed, Steve grinned, and he thought about Bucky’s request for a whole second brushing session earlier. “We haven’t really talked about relationship stuff, but I’m pretty sure he’s into the sex, too.”

This time, Sam’s nod was a little slower, his smile a bit more restrained. “You, ah, know when two guys...” He took a deep breath. “There’s certain... Shit, I don’t want you going and looking it up on the internet...”

Frowning at how uncomfortable Sam looked, Steve tried to imagine what he was failing at saying. “Bucky’s done it before, if —”

Sam let out a loud sigh, shoulders slumping, “Oh, thank God.”

Steve smiled at Sam’s apparent willingness to try and educate if needed. “My sentiments exactly. I didn’t even know what lube was for. Luckily Tony has all the bathrooms stocked with it.”

“Yeah, speak for yourself, Romeo. I didn’t even have a shower head.” He glanced around the apartment, grin flashing to life again. “So yeah, I think I’ll happily kick you out of this place. Better than me trying to remember old home improvement shows to fix the plumbing.”

“Jesus, yeah. Don’t bother.” Steve scratched the back of his head. “But none of that Romeo shit, Sam. This feels more about necessity than romance.”

Sam’s smile vanished. “Necessity?”

“I just mean, we’ve needed this for a really long time and didn’t think we could have it. And now, even though we’re so different than we were back then...” Steve shook his head, not sure how to express what he felt. “I just feel so much better when I’m around him.”

“It’s understandable to feel a little overwhelmed — hell, _a lot_ overwhelmed, after what you two have been through.”

That felt like a response meant to be carefully neutral, and it confused Steve. “I don’t feel overwhelmed. I feel like I got the missing half of my self back. Are you not...” He stopped before finishing the question because he didn’t actually want to know if Sam was disappointed in him for some reason.

“It’s good, you having him back,” Sam said gently. “And right now, you two need each other, with everything that’s gone down.”

Steve walked up to the island and looked Sam in the face, speaking calmly. “I’ve never not needed him, Sam. He was my only friend for damn near my whole life. We were already closer than brothers; this just sort of solidified things.”

“I know. And I’m glad you’ve got him back. Really glad. But I just want you to remember, there’s a real fine line between being friends with someone — even being in love with them — and _needing_ them just to get through the day.”

“You make it sound like an addiction. I’m talking about knowing how to find ourselves with each other.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

Steve shrugged. “The internet’s useful for _some_ things, Sam. Just because we called it shell shock and now it’s PTSD doesn’t mean I don’t get it. I do. And I understand you worry about codependence — but I’m not sure how much of that applies, with Bucky.”

“’Cause of what HYDRA did to him?”

“Because he’s a werewolf.” Steve shrugged again. “He keeps talking about his old pack. About how alone he is, up here.” He tapped the side of his head.

“Aw, man... This is one of those questions I never thought I’d be asking, but are werewolves psychic?”

“Only with each other, I guess? The way he described it was the whole pack sort of shared thoughts. Or experiences. Or something. Like they lived in each other’s heads, and what happened to one, happened to the group. I think it upsets him that he can’t share any of his experiences with others that way anymore.” Talking about it this way with Sam made Steve wonder exactly how being pack would feel.

Sam took a deep breath, frowning deeply. “Shit. Do you, ah, have any idea how much of him is human and how much is wolf? I mean, no disrespect, but... well, there are animals that... won’t be healthy if left in isolation, at least in zoos.”

“I know what you mean, but that’s the problem. He’ll tell you he’s not human. He’s a werewolf. He can take human form, but he doesn’t identify that way, I guess you could say. And you know how much time he spends as a wolf right now. That way of being is the most calming, I guess. More than the hybrid form at least, though he’s changed into that a couple times, too.”

“Shit,” Sam repeated, leaning down to rest his head in his hands. “I think I fucked up, then. I told him to try and stay human, so people would see him as human. But if he’s not, deep down inside...” He shook his head. “That’s the wrong thing for him to do.”

Steve reached out to touch Sam’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re all groping in the dark here. I’m still trying to adapt to quick shifts mid-conversation and to keep my fight-or-flight reflexes at bay when he switches to hybrid form. Have you seen that one?”

“Yeah. JARVIS has footage of your fight on the third helicarrier. To be honest, I don’t think anyone would blame you for running away screaming. Probably not even Bucky,” Sam said with a faint smile.

“He didn’t want to show me at first. And in person it’s a lot to take. He’s huge, for one thing. But he’s still my Buck in there. Before you came over he was lying on the floor whining for me to brush him in that form, so he’s not as intimidating as you’d think.” Steve grinned at Sam, his eyebrows up.

“Okay, _that_ I want to see,” Sam said with a laugh. “Hell, maybe we should. I mean, if you don’t think he’d mind.”

“ _‘Should’_ , what?”

“Go back in there and watch a movie or something, with him in that form. Get all of us comfortable being together like that, before we bring in anyone else.”

“There isn’t anyone else. I don’t think I want Tony anywhere near him, given how badly he wants to look at the tech in Bucky’s arm, and Nat... I will _never_ ask her to be around Bucky in that form. But he likes you.” Steve was relieved to find that since he and Bucky had become intimate — since he’d come to feel sure that Bucky wanted him as close as possible — he didn’t feel that prick of petty jealousy around Sam anymore. In fact, he was able to remind himself of why he’d taken to Sam in the first place. He took a deep breath and smiled as he said, “He’s comfortable with you.”

“You can’t shelter him forever,” Sam pointed out.

Steve huffed out a breath. “I’m not talking about forever. It's more about wanting Nat to feel safe than anything. And Tony gets fixated. Bucky’s had enough people messing with him for a lifetime...” Thinking about Bucky’s arm made Steve remember the tracking device. “Shit.”

“Shit? What’s wrong?” Sam asked, straightening up.

Steve held his hand up to Sam as he spoke. “One sec. JARVIS? Where’s Tony?”

“Mr. Stark is in his workshop, Captain,” the computer answered.

“Let him know I need to come see him?”

“Very good, Captain.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “If you’re threatening him, let me know, so I can go pack my worldly possessions.”

The frown on Steve’s face softened, not quite to a smile, but close. “No, I need to check in about something. You want to hang out with Bucky while I do that?”

“Sure. JARVIS and I can find a good movie to watch.” Sam’s grin made a sudden reappearance. “You think werewolves like popcorn?”

Steve’s face broke into a smile at Sam’s words. “As long as it’s not sugar, go for it. He’ll eat anything.”

 

~~~

 

Videoconferencing was a godsend, but only for the person in charge of the video part. Naturally that was Tony, though, so he was able to conference with his team leads without changing out of his sweats. Hell, he spent half the conference doing some quick fabrication work on his prototype Hulkbuster armor — less with the intent of using it on Bruce and more with the intent of using it on the next HYDRA asshole he found.

He had three reps from legal, two from PR, one from HR, and a half dozen executive toadies from various branches that were only peripherally involved in the current disaster. Tony had been of two minds about including them, but in the end he figured it was faster to just dial them all in than to argue. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the bandwidth.

And apparently it was another manifestation of his subconscious genius, as something one of the toadies said — Phan, from military contract fulfillment — registered in Tony’s brain.

“Wait, what?” he asked, popping out from under the framework supporting the armor. Twenty-odd holograms stared out at him, glowing like the most boring team of executive ghosts to ever haunt a workshop. “Phan, what was that?”

She squared her shoulders, trying to look alert despite the dark circles under her eyes. “Sir?”

“What you just said,” Tony prompted, vaguely wondering what time zone she was in — and what time it was here in Manhattan. He’d lost track again. “Repeat what you just said.”

She gave a quick little nod of understanding. “I don’t have any official word, sir, but one of my Navy contacts suggested we could expect an official inquiry into the company’s involvement.”

“In what? Which part?”

“Sir?”

Tony pushed a hand through his hair, ignoring the metal flakes stuck to his work glove. “Involvement in what? HYDRA infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D.? Some asshole launching Project Insight on American citizens including yours truly? The smear campaign against a beloved gay icon? The —” He stopped himself before he could mention the whole werewolf thing. He had a vague memory of discussing that issue with Pepper and deciding not to actually tell anyone else. Or maybe he’d _wanted_ to have that conversation and just skipped ahead, since her response was obvious. “Anything else?”

Phan took a deep breath. “The design of the, ah, ‘vulnerable systems’ that were taken over by a subversive —”

“Got it,” Tony interrupted, unsurprised. So that was the official party line. Small, subversive element, maybe even the ‘foreign terrorists’ angle... “Anyone asks, bring up the network security bid we lost. We can blame the competition. Their security flaws, not ours.”

As Phan and the two rats from Legal started discussing contractual obligations, the word _MUTE_ flashed across all the holos. “Sir,” JARVIS cut in. “Captain Rogers to see you.”

“Unlock doors. Unmute.” Tony looked down to verify that his clothes weren’t on inside-out or backwards or anything, which had happened more than once, and then interrupted his flunkies, saying, “Thanks, all. Email me your proposal for the next three days. Cut it, JARVIS.”

The holos disappeared just as Steve walked into the workshop. He was in need of a shave, but the bruises and cuts had all healed, and he didn’t look on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Tony had to count that as a win.

“We need to get you some new clothes,” he said, throwing his work gloves in the direction of his toolbox as he headed for the coffee machine.

“What, you don’t like how I look with your company’s logo on my chest and ass?” Steve had his standard face on, or at least the one he always gave Tony — the one that looked like a wince that was trying to hide a smirk. Tony still hadn’t figured out if Cap had a sense of humor or was just too polite to speak his mind.

“You look like a gym rat. Even more like a gym rat,” Tony amended. With those shoulders, there was no mistaking Cap for a couch potato. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks. I need a favor.” The wince morphed into a frown, making Steve look sincerely troubled.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Tony said worriedly, mostly because whatever worried someone like Steve Rogers would be a crisis for anyone else on the planet. The man had stubbornly stood his ground in the face of a damned alien invasion. _Without_ a suit of armor. “Sit down somewhere. Talk to me.”

Steve came forward and leaned against the workstation nearby so that he wasn’t quite facing Tony, looking off over Tony’s left shoulder. “What do you know about my defrosting? Were you there for much of it? Did you help with any of the reanimation process?”

“Yeah. I’m the hereditary expert on you. I don’t usually do biologicals, but I’m also the smartest one in the room.” Tony pushed up to sit on his toolbox, which rolled a few inches back. “In any room.”

There was a moment where Tony was sure Steve was going to roll his eyes, but at the last second he shrugged in what looked like agreement. “So, they did — or you did — tests, I assume? Anything invasive?”

“Invasive like...” Tony faltered, thinking Steve had missed the entire X-Files era. “We had to, uh, decyrstallize your blood, sort of, and you’d inhaled water that eventually, er, melted. And you don’t want to freeze a working digestive system, then kick-start it again. At least not without opening the windows.”

The frown looked pained for a moment before Steve continued his inscrutable line of questioning. “No modifications? No additions?”

“Like what? The arc reactor was a one-off, and no reputable surgeon would give you a tummy tuck.”

“I don’t know...” Steve crossed his arms and looked down at the floor between the two of them. “Like some way of monitoring me? Maybe a tracking device?”

_Oh._ Tony shook his head, gesturing at Steve’s artificially enhanced body. “Nothing I designed, but it wouldn’t matter. You’d reject anything they tried to implant.”

Steve’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline and his eyes went wide and hopeful, like a dog looking for a treat. He was enviably good at it; nobody fell for Tony’s puppy-dog eyes these days. “Really?” Steve asked. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Haven’t you noticed you’re hell on IVs?” Tony asked, remembering that little comedy of errors. “Two nurses quit because of you, after getting reprimanded for not inserting the needles properly.”

“But... there’s no way someone from HYDRA could have put — I dunno — something radioactive in my blood that they could track?” Steve must have seen Tony’s shock, because he added quickly, “Please, Tony. I just want to make sure I’m not bringing trouble down on us without knowing it. They put a chip in Bucky’s arm...”

Tony shook his head, biting back the urge to demand to have a look at that arm ‘for security’ or something. The last thing he needed was to get bit by a pissed-off werewolf. Pepper probably had a hard limit about fur. Probably. “We’re secure on that front. Avengers levels are on electronic lockdown. Only authorized signals in or out. Haven’t you noticed you don’t have cell service?”

Worry shifted to sheepishness as Steve said, “I’m still not sure where my phone is. And anyone I’d want to call is on the premises.” Then he stared hard at Tony for a moment and said, “You sure you don’t need to scan me to make sure I’m clean?”

“If you want to strip for me, who am I to argue?” Tony said with a shrug. “Can I stream the images to Pepper?”

That got him an eye-roll and an exasperated huff as Steve said, “Not your lucky day, Stark.” He pushed off the workbench and turned to leave. “But thanks for the peace of mind.”

Tony shrugged and said, “You might want to bring the werewolf here for a scan, though. As best JARVIS can guess, that arm is covered in plates made from a vibranium alloy — like your shield, but stronger. I can’t read anything under it but a power source that’s off the charts.”

Steve stopped moving towards the doors but only turned his head slightly to say, “Worried they installed something under there that puts your arc reactor to shame?”

“Worried they’ve got a switch in his head to turn him back into their pet assassin the second he steps out of JARVIS’ electronic shielding. That arm’s got to have a neural interface, and that means they rewired his brain.”

Steve spun back around, worry etched deeply into his face. “Shit. Really?” His eyes narrowed as he practically growled, “Don’t you dare fuck with his brain, Stark, or I’ll —”

“Whoa!” Tony cut in, dropping down off the toolbox. He had zero hope of getting into any of his armor, but he had a couple of prototype mini-drones lurking around. “ _I’m_ not the one who gave him that arm, so don’t blame me for whatever HYDRA or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whoever-the-fuck did.”

“All right. I’m sorry. But if that’s a legitimate concern...” Steve shook his head, wiping a hand down his face and then looking at Tony with pain in his eyes. “I need him back, Tony.”

“Does that mean you’re over the whole werewolf panic thing?”

Steve took a deep breath and then let it out slowly through his nose before answering, “I love him in any form he can take. And I don’t know if you’ve seen his hybrid battle form up close, but when you can do it without panicking, _then_ you can talk to me about whatever intolerance you think I have.”

“Hey, easy,” Tony said, raising his hands and taking a calculated step back — one that put him in reach of the welder. Not that he’d try to use it on Steve, but the thing was on wheels and could prove a useful obstacle. “I invited him into my home, remember?”

“A home that has failsafes designed to incapacitate _the Hulk._ You aren’t taking any chances, Tony. Don’t try to pretend.”

Tony took a breath and opened his mouth before his brain caught up, reminding him that picking a fight with Captain America was somewhere in the top twenty list of stupidest things he’d ever considered doing. Instead, he said, “Bring him here, in whatever form. I’ll check out that arm, see what surprises it’s hiding.”

“When he’s up for it. Not before.” Steve turned to head out the door, his voice carrying over his shoulder as he went. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Tony sighed and turned back to his armor, listening to the soft hiss of the doors closing. “Lock it up, JARVIS. Visiting hours are over.”

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS answered. “Shall I bring up your email? Your inbox is approaching critical limits.”

Gritting his teeth, Tony went right for the welder. “Later. Unless it’s from PR, it can wait. Or Pepper. Those are priority.”

“I had assumed, sir.”


	22. Chapter 22

Steve could smell popcorn before he’d fully opened the apartment door, and the first thing he heard was a male voice, with an exaggerated Scottish accent, shouting about a giant bear. Bemused, he headed past the kitchen to the living room, where he found Bucky, in his hybrid battle form, curled up on his side, head pillowed on one arm of the sofa, clawed feet hanging over the other end. Sam was in an armchair, which he’d moved close to the side of the couch so he and Bucky could share a huge, half-empty bowl of popcorn. The rest of the popcorn was on the floor and the rest of the furniture — the remnants of an epic popcorn battle, apparently.

“Didn’t you ever grow out of pelting your movie-watching partner with popcorn, Buck? It’s the worst kind of distraction.”

The werewolf rolled his eyes, scooped up a handful of popcorn, then flung it at Steve with a snarl that never quite made it to ferocious.

Steve couldn’t hide his indulgent grin as he stepped over to grab a handful of popcorn to eat and sat on the edge of the couch, leaning back against Bucky’s stomach to look at the screen. “Why are you watching a kids’ movie?”

“Because _somebody_ said you two clowns enjoyed Disney movies,” Sam said.

“Movies _used to_ have newsreels and cartoons and stuff before the picture,” Bucky said, reaching threateningly for the popcorn. Prudently, Sam yanked the bowl out of his reach.

“Disney. Yeah. Mickey Mouse shorts before the feature. But this is weird animation that tries to look real. Why not just watch live action?” Steve took hold of Bucky’s metal arm and pulled so that it was draped around his hips.

Sam crunched on popcorn, then swallowed. “Because this is art.”

“You do art,” Bucky said, lifting his head to give Steve a puzzled look — at least, Steve assumed it was puzzled and not bloodthirsty. “Don’t you draw or something?”

Every time Bucky uncovered a new memory felt like a little victory, but it also always seemed vague enough to cause Steve pain. Bucky used to love Steve’s sketches. To think he barely remembered them made Steve’s throat close up. He nodded until he could swallow and scratch out, “Used to. Not much time anymore.”

Bucky made a low, growling sound that vibrated deep in his chest. “That’s not good. Right?”

Steve looked down, focused on Bucky’s hand instead of his face, not wanting to see the disappointment he felt in himself mirrored in Bucky’s all too familiar eyes. “No, Buck. Probably not. It used to help me think straight.”

“Stark’s gotta have a drawing tablet around here, if you wanted to try digital art,” Sam suggested.

Steve looked over at Sam and shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. It’s not the same. Not sure if it would do what I needed it to.” Steve missed the feel of a good old-fashioned pencil in his hand. Ballpoint pens were awful but they were everywhere, and the scratch of pencil lead on paper was all but lost these days. That little point of contact had been what Steve had focused on to calm and clear his mind.

“I’m pretty sure he could hook you up with paper, if you’d rather.” Sam offered him the bowl of popcorn. “Now, shut up and watch the movie. Want to start from the beginning?”

“Your call, Buck. I’m just here for the snacks and furry cuddles.” Steve grinned down at Bucky before reaching for the popcorn.

Bucky twisted further onto his side and curled his body around Steve’s. “Start over. The girl’s an incredible shot, Steve. You’ve gotta see this.”

Seeing Bucky interested in anything was exciting for Steve, but so was a non-threatening, even cuddly Bucky in hybrid form, and Steve wanted to indulge both. He set the popcorn bowl on the floor by his feet as he said, “Okay, but scoot back. I want to lie down too.”

“Is there room?” Bucky asked uncertainly.

“Cushions on the floor,” Sam suggested, fiddling with the remote, rather than asking JARVIS to restart the movie.

Steve’s face lit up, and he nudged Bucky’s arm. “That was always your solution. Remember?”

Bucky’s ears twitched back. He shook his head and looked away, muttering, “No.”

_Shit._

That shouldn’t have hurt. It was no one’s fault. But it did hurt. A lot.

Had Bucky lost most of his childhood? Was there a way of getting it back? Steve leaned down and buried his face in Bucky’s neck fur. “It’s okay. I do. And I’ll tell you the story later.”

Bucky nodded, ears perking back up, and looked at Sam. “What do we do?”

Sam laughed. “Get your lazy ass off the couch and put the cushions on the floor. Maybe grab some extra pillows, too.”

Steve stood so that Bucky could get up and follow orders, but he didn’t have it in him to help. He just watched his new Bucky in hybrid form do for the first time something that his old Bucky had done countless times as a kid. And maybe Bucky didn’t consciously remember, but _something_ inside him did, because he pulled the afghan off the armchair and wrapped it around the cushions, tucking the ends under to try and keep them from sliding apart, just as he’d done as a kid.

“Look at you. You’re still a master at this.” There was a scratch in Steve’s throat as he spoke, but the smile he gave Bucky was genuine.

Bucky’s jaw dropped open, showing his fangs. “Want more pillows?”

Taking it as a good sign that he registered Bucky’s expression as happy, not threatening, Steve smiled wider as he spoke. “You should have a couple for your back against the couch. I’ll get them.”

“I’m fine. I have all this fur.” Taking care not to shred the afghan with his claws, Bucky lowered himself onto the cushions and rolled over to make room, though there wasn’t much. “Fur that nobody’s brushed,” he added with a little whine in his voice. Sam threw popcorn at him, saving Steve the trouble.

Steve laughed and said, “Listen to this whiner. He’s an ungrateful wretch, Sam. Did you see the work I did on the wolf coat? It’s not my fault he has two and let them both get so bad.” Steve climbed onto the cushions with Bucky and lay down so they were back-to-front, then winked at Sam as he nudged Bucky and said, “You’ve got hands in this form, after all. You can do it yourself.”

“I can’t reach,” Bucky complained, working his right arm under Steve’s head to provide a pillow. “And there are two of you. You’d be done in half the time.”

“Oh, Sam. Careful. Don’t let him recruit you unless you can handle tickly fur on your... everything.” Steve pressed himself against Bucky’s body, trying to fit snug against it even though they were working with such different proportions. He really did feel small again, though, which was oddly comforting, given he was cuddling with a deadly creature that had fangs and claws which could tear him to shreds.

“I grew up with hunting dogs. Every time we went after birds, I was the one who got to shampoo them before Mom let them in the house. I got this covered.” Sam grinned and threw popcorn at them both.

“Buck, you are one lucky son of a bitch. But first we’re watching this movie, aren’t we?” Steve had no desire to get up, now that they were cozy on the cushions, with Bucky’s arms around his torso and under his head.

“Movie then brushing?” Bucky asked hopefully.

Knowing that he was complete shit at saying no to Bucky — and always had been — Steve looked to Sam for an answer, eyebrows up noncommittally. Sam let out a dramatic sigh and said, “Fine. _If_ you people will let me get on with the damned movie.”

Steve grinned at Sam’s mock anger and snuggled closer to Bucky, turning his head toward the screen. “Go for it.”

 

~~~

 

The movie was actually equal parts adorable and sassy, mostly due to the heroine, who was, in fact, a killer shot. Somewhere about three-quarters of the way through, when Bucky squeezed his metal arm around Steve’s body, he remembered Tony’s concern about the arm-to-brain hookup and almost had them stop the movie, but Bucky was enchanted with the story, and Steve didn’t want to wreck the mood.

Instead he just lay there in Bucky’s huge arms and tried not to think about what HYDRA had done while he was on ice. It didn’t really work.

The ending credits had barely started when Bucky nosed at the back of Steve’s head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I...” Steve was surprised Bucky could tell, though he realized he shouldn’t have been. He turned onto his back to look at Bucky’s wolfish face. “What gave it away?”

“I can smell it. And I can feel your heartbeat.”

Steve reached up to touch Bucky’s nose. “Sorry. It’s just... I was with Tony earlier and he wants...” He ran his hand down Bucky’s metal arm, from the top of the shoulder to the wrist. Was it really hooked directly to his brain? And had HYDRA programmed him to the point that he might revert to assassin-mode? Steve doubted it, after how much progress Bucky had made, but Tony was right to want to check. “Nothing. You wanna get brushed?”

Bucky’s ears twitched, and he glanced away. “If you want?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yeah.” Steve tried to get within Bucky’s line of sight. He couldn’t quite smile, but he thought he got close. “I do. Come on.”

Brushing a full-sized, battle-ready werewolf was nothing like brushing a dog. For one thing, standing upright, Bucky was a foot taller than Steve, and with the way his back legs were jointed, he couldn’t sit properly in a chair — at least not a chair with a back. He ended up sitting on stacked sofa cushions, after the coffee table groaned and threatened to collapse under his weight.

“Bristle brushes first, to get out the loose hair?” Sam asked, picking popcorn kernels out of the brushes and combs that had ended up on the floor during the war.

“Sounds good. I’ll work on the mats. I think I remember where most of them are.” Steve picked up a wide-toothed comb and the small scissors. Bucky hunched forward, resting his elbows on... Well, Steve _thought_ they were knees, though the joints in Bucky’s legs were more like the hind legs of a dog.

Sam went around behind Bucky and started brushing down his shoulders and spine. “Yeah, okay. You’re a hell of a lot bigger than our old hunting dogs. Any good at retrieving ducks?”

Bucky shrugged. “Better at shooting them. I’m the second-best shot in the building.”

Without thinking, Steve said, “Who’s the first?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when he looked over Bucky’s massive shoulder to catch Sam’s eye, and the two of them said, in unison, “Nat.”

Bucky nodded just a little bit. “She put a bullet in the right eyepiece of my shooting goggles. With a handgun.”

A shiver ran down Steve’s spine at how matter-of-fact Bucky was about almost dying at Nat’s hands. It was clear she hadn’t done any damage, but Steve spared a moment to be grateful to the universe once again for not taking Bucky from him — at least not permanently. Steve couldn’t be mad at Nat for trying to kill Bucky before they knew who the Winter Soldier was, but he was damned glad that for once she hadn’t succeeded in eliminating her target.

“She fought the Chitauri — and their ninety foot flying creatures — in the Battle of New York with two pistols.” Steve shook his head in appreciation and respect for his teammate. “Smartest thing Nick did was get her on our side.”

Bucky nodded again. “I don’t think she hunts anything but people, though.”

As long as she didn’t hunt werewolves, Steve was oddly fine with that. “Chin up, babe. Lemme comb your neck.” Bucky obligingly lifted his muzzle. Steve combed lightly down his throat, noting the way the skin dipped into a hollow at the center, with two taut ridges under the fur, running from his jaw to his chest, just like he had in wolf form. After three strokes, though, Bucky opened his mouth in a slow yawn, wide enough that he probably could’ve bitten through Steve’s skull. Steve poked Bucky’s chest with the comb and smirked as he said, “Sorry, are we keeping you up?”

Bucky closed his mouth and tilted his head to shoot Steve a sidelong glance. “Feels good,” he muttered as though embarrassed.

“It’s fine.” Steve leaned in to kiss Bucky’s muzzle, then combed along the side of his neck, trying not to catch on the mats. Again, Bucky’s mouth opened, though his eyes blinked closed in a sleepy, adorable way that softened the ferocious edge of what by rights should have been a nightmarishly gaping maw.

There was at least four times as much combing involved with a werewolf as with a wolf — maybe five. Not that Bucky seemed to mind, at least, judging by the way he slouched forward, then slumped, then sprawled, arms folded on the coffee table. The couch cushions had compressed under his weight, leaving Bucky looking more like a boneless puddle of werewolf than the fierce creature that had damned near bested Steve in battle. By the time Sam was done combing Bucky’s tail and Steve had cut out the last of the mats, leaving strange bald spots behind Bucky’s ears, suspicious snoring sounds were coming from the muzzle that was half-hidden against Bucky’s arms.

“Do we wake him to get him to turn over?”

The snore turned into a startled snort, and both ears twitched. “’M awake,” the werewolf mumbled, though his eyes were still closed.

“Uh huh,” Sam said, giving Steve a grin.

“If that’s true, I want you to roll over on your back _without_ breaking the coffee table.” Steve couldn’t help scratching between Bucky’s ears as he spoke, which probably didn’t help with the whole ‘awake’ thing.

Bucky wriggled and slumped even lower, sending the pile of cushions into disarray so he could sprawl on them. He ended up on his back, tail flat between his legs, head thrown back to bare his throat. Even his metal arm looked relaxed.

“Now look what you did,” Sam complained. “You broke the werewolf.”

Grinning at Sam, Steve replied, “‘Broke’ isn’t quite it. ‘Flipped the off switch’, maybe. But that was a combined effort. You’re just as much to blame for that.”

“Not something that was on my bucket list, but all right.” Sam gestured at Bucky, and Steve noticed he was carefully _not_ looking below chest-level. Bucky’s fur didn’t exactly cover everything. “Where’d you want to start?”

“No tickling,” Bucky mumbled, barely opening his mouth to speak.

Ignoring Bucky, Steve turned to look at Sam. “I sort of already did his head and neck, but if you want to work on that and his chest, I can do the rest.” He really didn’t want this to be awkward for anyone, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to keep it from getting weird. A lot of the mats in Bucky’s fur were on the insides of his thighs, just like in his wolf form.

The difference from his wolf form was that Bucky’s junk was _right there._ The three of them had gotten good at disregarding the lower half of Bucky’s body when he was human and naked after changing from wolf form, but the point of this exercise was to pay attention to each area of his fur in detail, including that one. Steve had to just be okay with the fact that his face was going to be red the whole time.

He knelt down between Bucky’s legs and started combing from the waist down. When his comb caught on a mat it didn’t even seem like Bucky noticed. If he was really that relaxed, maybe it was a good idea to broach the subject of Tony looking at his arm. Worth testing the waters, at least. “Babe?”

Bucky growled, though it was a lazy sound, rather than a fierce one.

Taking that as a sign to go ahead, Steve said, “Does your arm ever need maintenance?”

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged, taking a deep breath before he lifted his head. He couldn’t bend down enough to look at Steve. “Why?”

“Well... I was wondering how that could happen now that you don’t have handlers anymore. Do you think Tony could look at it for you?” Steve felt a little bit guilty going about this in a roundabout way, but he wanted to keep Bucky calm. And there was nothing calming about Tony’s motives — or procedures, for that matter.

Bucky flattened his metal hand on the cushions, claws poking through, so he could sit up. He had to shift his legs to one side and cant his hips to keep from sitting on his tail. “But I —” He looked down, ears twitching. “Howard.”

Steve’s breath caught for a moment before he found something to say. “Tony doesn’t know what happened, love. And like we said before, it wasn’t your fault.” Steve rested his hands on Bucky’s knees. “But if it would be difficult to face him, I understand. I’m just worried about not knowing anything about your arm. I don’t want it to malfunction.” The more he took this line of argument, the more he found himself believing it. This wasn’t a favor to Tony. It was for Bucky’s benefit just as much as any other veteran.

“All right.” Bucky nodded, taking a deep breath, then looked up at Steve. “Now?”

Caught off guard by Bucky’s ready acceptance, Steve’s brow furrowed, wondering if it was a matter of Bucky bowing to Steve’s will because he didn’t know anything else. Or maybe he was just relaxed enough that it didn’t faze him. Either way, there was no reason to stop what they were doing and rush off.

He looked up to see Sam looking at him, eyebrows raised, brush frozen a couple inches from Bucky’s coat. He shrugged at Sam as he said, “No rush. We can finish this first. And then you can decide which form you want to be in when we go to the workshop.”

“Yeah, Stark strikes me as the type you get dressed up for,” Sam said, scratching up to Bucky’s ear so he could give it a gentle tug. “You want some ribbons in your fur, maybe?”

Bucky’s huff was definitely a laugh. “You and Steve are the pretty ones. Not me.”

“Lies.” Steve accidentally tugged a mat too hard, but again Bucky didn’t react. “I mean, not about Sam, clearly. That’s absolutely true. The rest of it though... You’re gorgeous, Buck.”

Looking away again, Bucky muttered, “Maybe in my skin, yeah? Not like this.”

“Actually, Steve got it right this time,” Sam said, ruffling the fur at the back of Bucky’s neck. “Believe me, I’ve watched too damn many B-movies to not appreciate a real werewolf.”

Steve slid his hands up Bucky’s thighs to grab hold of his hips. “Like this, as a wolf, in your skin. You’re fucking beautiful. Just like always.”

“Really?” It seemed to slip out and catch Bucky by surprise, judging by how he snapped his mouth shut and glanced away.

A little spark of joy ignited in Steve and brought a warm glow from his chest all the way to his face, because he could say with absolute truthfulness, “Yes, really.”

“I thought —” Bucky’s ears went flat, and he hunched down, eyes narrowed as if he were frowning. “You didn’t want me to be in this form yesterday? Two days ago? Or did I get confused?”

Smile softening, Steve said, “You’re not confused. It was in the bathroom after our first shower. I said it was hard to take. At the time it was. But I also said I’d get used to you like this, and, well, I guess I have.”

Bucky let out a relieved sigh. “Okay,” he said, meeting Steve’s eyes.

“And hey,” Sam said softly. “That reminds me, Bucky. I need to apologize to you. When I told you it was better for everyone if you kept your skin on, I was wrong. You’re not human. You’re a werewolf. And anyone who can’t deal with that... well, it’s their problem. Not yours. I’m sorry.”

Bucky tipped his head ears twitching. “It was tactically sound.”

“What does that even mean?” Steve was frowning back and forth from Bucky to Sam.

“For infiltration. A human would go unnoticed more easily than a werewolf,” Bucky explained.

“But not around here, Buck. And not when you walk around naked all the time. That’s somewhat eye-catching.” Steve couldn’t keep a straight face, even though he tried.

Bucky shrugged. “Can’t wear pants with a tail.”

Sam grinned. “I’m _positive_ Stark knows a good bespoke tailor who could work something out.”

“Or you could wear a skirt...” Steve tried to focus on untangling a mat at Bucky’s hip, but that image was too distracting. Especially when Bucky growled, and this time it was low and dangerous, raising the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck. “I just meant it would be functional, that’s all.”

“Is this because of what we did?” Bucky asked, the growl still heavy in his voice as if he were angry, though he hunched over and seemed to brace himself as if expecting to be struck.

Shocked at the question, Steve looked into Bucky’s face and saw that familiar reaction to contradicting Steve. The anticipation of violence was as disturbing as Bucky’s train of thought. Steve set down his comb and moved his hands very slowly to cup Bucky’s furry face. “Absolutely not, babe. I wasn’t making a comment about gender or sexuailty. I just thought it would be the most functional covering because your tail would never get trapped.”

Sam shot Steve a worried glance over Bucky’s ducked head, though when he spoke, his voice was light and casual. “They sell hiking skirts for guys. And there’s always a kilt.”

Instead of relaxing, though, Bucky just hunched down even more, then leaned forward. His hands hit the cushions to either side of Steve’s legs before a shift left Steve face-to-face with a wolf. Without meeting Steve’s eyes, Bucky rose just enough to turn in a circle before he curled up, nose to tail.

Steve looked up at Sam apologetically. “Give us a sec?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Sam said gently. He ran a hand over Bucky’s head, smoothing his fur back, then got up. “I’ll go pack my stuff.”

Steve nodded as he buried his fingers in Bucky’s fur to keep a connection between them. “I’ll check in with you in a bit, Sam. Thanks.” He tried to smile, reminding himself that he and Bucky were getting better at figuring things out together. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long for them to clear up this misunderstanding, whatever it was.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve waited until he heard the door to the apartment latch. Then he slowly stroked the fur on Bucky’s back and inched up close until he could curl himself around Bucky’s body. Pressing his face into the fur at the back of Bucky’s head, he asked, “What’s wrong, Buck?”

Bucky’s answer was a sigh.

 _Right_. No talking in this form. Maybe yes or no questions would work. “Are you angry with me?”

Bucky shook his head, but his ears flickered, and his body went tense — the opposite of what usually happened when he took wolf form. He’d said wolf form made everything more distant. Simpler. But maybe it also made lying difficult.

“You’re upset, though.” Time for a bunch of guesswork. “Because you think I want you to wear a skirt?”

Another flick of his ears, accompanied by a huff of hot breath over Steve’s hands.

Taking that as a tacit yes, Steve continued. “And that feels bad to you because... you think it has to do with the fact that I liked fucking you?”

The next twitch was full-body, not just restricted to Bucky’s ears. He shifted uncomfortably, and Steve could just barely hear the hint of a whine under his exhale.

“All right, all right. It’s okay, Buck.” Steve petted Bucky’s side as he thought about how to say his next words. “Those two things have nothing to do with each other, okay? I love you and respect you for who you are, and I don’t want to change you in any way. I wouldn’t tell you to wear anything that made you feel uncomfortable, and I’m sorry that’s how it sounded to you. I didn't mention a skirt because I think of you as a dame or anything. I honestly said it because it was the only piece of clothing I could think of that you could wear without hurting your tail. That was it.”

Steve held his breath for Bucky’s response, however subtle it might have been, so he felt Bucky start to relax. He sighed in relief and curled tighter around Bucky, petting and scratching his head and neck. “I love you, Buck.”

Without any warning, Bucky shifted into his skin, rolling onto his side to press his back against Steve’s chest. “You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice almost too soft for Steve to hear. He covered Steve’s hand with his own, metal cool against Steve’s skin, and carefully laced their fingers together.

Pressing his face into Bucky’s hair so his lips brushed against Bucky’s ear, Steve squeezed the metal hand and whispered, “The things you shouldn’t do are always the ones worth doing. Besides, there’s no way I’ll ever stop. I’ve been doing it for too long.”

“I’m not _him,_ ” Bucky said softly. “I barely remember _you_ , much less him.”

_Shit._

That one fucking hurt. It was close enough to true to cause a sharp pain in Steve’s chest. For a second, he wondered if Bucky had been starting from scratch when it came to Steve — whether there really had been anything in him to build on or not. But Steve had _watched_ Bucky remember him _._ He was sure of that.

“There’s enough of him in you that it feels right, loving you. And if the only thing you remember about me is that I was a scrawny asshole, that’s enough. I can tell you the rest.”

“Not really fair to you, though. Don’t you like Sam?”

Hugging Bucky tightly to his chest, Steve choked out, “Don’t, Buck. I don’t want him like I do you. He’s amazing, but he’s my friend. It’s you I want to be really close to — intimate with.”

“Oh.” Bucky tensed again — just a little, but Steve was learning to read his subtle, restrained body language.

“What is it, hon?” Steve was afraid that somehow he’d said too much. That Bucky didn’t feel the same way or even close to it, and that everything was about to fall down around them.

It took a good thirty seconds — thirty agonizing seconds, in which Steve’s heart kicked hard at his throat, making it difficult to breathe — for Bucky to quietly ask, “Do you think I want you to pick him or me?”

_Oh._

_Right._ Wolves didn’t work like that. Steve had no idea if _he_ did or not, however. “You want an _‘and’_ situation, not an _‘or’,_ don’t you?”

Bucky tensed, and Steve braced himself for a shift, but then Bucky twisted around to frown at him. “Huh?”

If Steve had guessed wrong he was just going to have to give up. “The way you asked... You don’t want... You’d rather the three of us all together?”

Another few seconds of silence. Then, hesitantly, Bucky said, “No?”

Sighing, Steve said, “Buck, we talked about how I always want you to be honest with me. Tell me what you actually want.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “I don’t know. You sent him away. You don’t want him here.”

“I wanted to have a private conversation with you about why you were upset, because I knew it had to do with something between just the two of us. I love having Sam around. I think he’s great. And he’s so good with you — better than me sometimes. But if we’re talking about bringing him into the relationship... That’s something different. Is that what we’re talking about?” At this point, Steve had no idea if it was or not — or how he felt about it, even as his heart rate kicked up a notch.

This time, Bucky’s inhale was sharp. Irritated. “I don’t know,” he said, a growl creeping into his voice. He pulled away and twisted, rolling off the cushions hard enough to shove the coffee table across the carpet. He came up in a crouch, glaring angrily at Steve. “Why are you making this so complicated?”

An exasperated huff accompanied Steve’s answer, and he cursed under his breath that he couldn’t get even the tiniest insight about what was going on in Bucky’s mind, but he tried to speak calmly. “Because communication is difficult, and the only way I know how to avoid misunderstandings is to be specific. And I fucking love you so I care about what you want.” He sat up to look directly at Bucky. “If you want Sam, I can figure that out... how to be okay with that. It’ll take a bit, but...”

Bucky sighed and eased back down to sit on the carpet, shoving the coffee table back another few inches. “I dunno, Steve. Maybe I can’t do this with any human,” he said, staring down with unfocused eyes.

It was like a punch to the gut detonated something inside Steve. Everything reeled and swayed and he was instantly drenched in sweat. “I... I don’t... But if you need to end this...”

His voice gave out before he could finish the sentence. There was nothing to say. If Bucky was done, that was it. Steve wasn’t going to disrespect either of them by trying to convince or coerce or beg.

And then it hit him. “Wait, are you asking — Would you want me if I was... like you? A werewolf?”

“It’s not _want_. We’re just not the same. Not anymore — if we ever were.”

“What does _same_ have to do with it?” Steve knew a note of desperation had crept into his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been working so hard to accept the differences in Bucky, and he hated having them pointed out. Once upon a time the two of them had been so similar. “And if you tell me it’s because we weren’t fighting on the same side...”

With another sigh, Bucky said, “I was _supposed_ to bite you, so they’d have to kill you. Remember? So you wouldn’t be the ‘same’ as them.”

“Bucky, you’ve met the people I work with. They wouldn’t kill me because I was different.” Steve crawled forward over the cushions to be within reach of Bucky, but then just sat without trying to touch him. “I don’t understand what you want.”

“I want...” Bucky shook his head, eyes closing, and pulled his legs up to his chest. “I want this to all stop. I want to forget that I’m alone.”

“I’m right here, Buck.” Steve knew that wasn’t enough. He _knew_ it. He could see it in Bucky so clearly it had started to physically hurt him to watch.

It wasn’t enough for him either, if he was being honest with himself. They used to be inseparable, united, closer-than-close, and Bucky didn’t even remember much of that anymore. The idea that Steve was alone with his memories of Bucky was intolerable. Worse, there was no way to know if Bucky would ever get them back. He felt like they were stranded on either side of a chasm and there was only one way to cross it. Time to make the leap.

“I’m right here. Go ahead. Take me.” He held out his arm as an offering.

“You’re _human_ ,” Bucky snapped back without lifting his head from where it was pillowed against his arms.

“I am until you bite me.” Steve moved his arm an inch closer, just as Bucky lifted his head, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You remember how to do it?”

Bucky frowned, eyes going distant. “Yeah... Yeah, I do,” he said, tipping his head thoughtfully. “I remember.”

A flash of joy hit Steve at seeing that Bucky’s memories were slowly coming back. He hoped so hard that if the two of them were connected, he could help with that even more. “Good. Go ahead. You want someone to share your experience with; I want to share my life with you.”

Bucky’s head tilted, and his eyes narrowed. “I won’t let them kill you. If they try to hunt you, I’ll kill them all,” he warned.

“No one’s gonna try to kill me — not anyone that isn’t already out for my blood. And no one has to know I’m a werewolf anyway, right? I can stay in human form as much as I want.” Steve stubbornly hadn’t moved his arm away. It was still held between them at the level of Bucky’s face.

“Yeah...” Bucky took a deep breath, hope coming into his eyes.

“And we’ll be connected, right? We’ll be closer than ever, and you won’t feel alone?” Steve was doing that thing where he was refusing to think about the potentially stupid risk he was taking. Instead, he focused on getting what he wanted, even if it was from a very different angle.

Bucky was perfectly still — barely even breathing — except for a quick, jerky nod. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“Do you love me?”

It wasn’t what Steve had meant to say, but on the verge of jumping out of a plane with no parachute, it was what he needed to know. If they actually had something to build on, before they were bonded together into a pack, then Steve would be okay with going through with it. If this was just about filling a need for Bucky, Steve would never feel right about it. He had to know that Bucky wanted _him_ not just anyone to share that connection with.

Bucky drew back as if startled, a frown creasing his brow. “Is that... okay?”

Steve let out his held breath in a strangled laugh that sounded like a sob. “Yeah, Buck. Yeah. Definitely okay.”

The last tension left Bucky’s posture. He smiled and gave a quick nod, saying, “I do. I think I always have, somewhere inside.”

“Thank God. It would feel pretty lousy being the only one that was true for.” Steve leaned down and pressed his forehead to Bucky’s. “I’ve loved you too damned long to not want this, Buck.” He’d offered himself so impulsively just now, but as he spoke he realized how deeply he wanted it — how desperate he’d been for this sort of connection with Bucky for most of their lives.

Bucky uncurled his body and took Steve’s hand, not to pull it towards his mouth but to hold on. He leaned forward, moving into a crouch, and twisted, pushing Steve back onto the cushions. He followed Steve down until they were stretched out together. “Love you, Steve,” Bucky said softly.

A sob escaped Steve’s throat just before it closed up. He wrapped his free arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug until he could speak again. “Jesus, Buck. It feels so good to hear that. I love you so damned much.”

Bucky’s sigh turned into a growl, and the breath rushed out of Steve’s lungs as Bucky shifted, between one blink and the next, into his hybrid battle form. Instinct drove rational thought out of Steve’s head. Adrenaline coursed through him, and he pushed with all of his enhanced strength, but the werewolf had the advantage of leverage.

As if Steve were still a scrawny, asthmatic ninety-five-pounder, the werewolf flipped him over. He felt the first sharp, deadly touch of fangs on his nape. There was just enough time for Steve to remind himself that he trusted Bucky, inhale deeply, and breathe out the word “Yes,” before Bucky’s jaws closed, snapping right through his spine.


	24. Chapter 24

Once again, Steve felt as though he was coming back from the dead. The bite should have killed him — the pain alone almost had. The smell of blood was strong in his nose, and adrenaline still burned in his veins, even as he knew there was no threat. To emphasize that, Bucky, still in hybrid form, was curled around his body, holding him close and gently licking the back of his neck. His body had gone through agony, but at the moment his mind was calm.

And yet, when he opened his eyes and saw the blood everywhere, his heart skipped a beat. “Bucky.”

Before Bucky even answered, Steve heard something in the back of his mind — not words, but a shapeless sense of reassurance. And he knew _before_ Bucky shifted, so he was able to move his own body to accommodate Bucky’s human form, keeping their bodies together. “Steve,” he said, kissing the back of Steve’s head.

There was no question — no “Are you all right?” — and no apology, but there was no need. Steve _was_ all right, as was Bucky, and they both knew it without having to ask.

The relief that flooded through Steve was more than just a reaction to being alive and okay; it was a bone-deep comfort that he understood what was going on with Bucky. It had been years since he last felt like he was privy to what was in Bucky’s head, and this level of knowing was more than he could have hoped to have.

He turned to look at Bucky, wanting to ask a million questions — about how this worked, what Bucky remembered, what he’d gone through, what they could accomplish now — but when he looked into Bucky’s eyes, all he wanted was to kiss him. And though he didn’t ask, Bucky smiled and leaned in close for a kiss. Steve reveled in the feeling of Bucky’s mouth on his as well as the fact that he didn’t have to ask for it. At least not outright.

He figured he should test out how this mental connection worked, so he thought in his head: _Can you hear me?_

Bucky broke the kiss, but instead of answering, he asked, “You want to take a shower? We’re both a mess.”

Steve nodded, finding himself glad that they couldn’t actually talk to each other in their heads. “How much blood did I lose?” He was a little worried that he’d be too dizzy to stand up.

Bucky shrugged, unconcerned. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Then he laughed and looked around. “Shit. We wrecked the room.”

Sitting up to follow Bucky’s gaze, Steve muttered, “Shit,” under his breath and tried not to get woozy looking at the huge mess of blood on everything — soaked into the couch cushions and carpet, sprayed across the coffee table and chair, spattered all over both of them. “That’s a lot. We need to get it cleaned up.” He defaulted to his normal way of solving problems in the tower. “JARVIS?”

“Captain Rogers,” the computer answered. It sounded flat and inflectionless — definitely artificial — though JARVIS had always seemed warmly human before.

“How would you suggest we clean this mess up?”

“Please don’t trouble yourself, Captain. It will be taken care of. And if it isn’t an imposition, Mr. Stark, Agent Romanoff, and Sam are outside the door, quite concerned. May I pass a message to them?”

Frowning at the idea that they had gathered in the hall, Steve looked up at the ceiling and cocked his head to the side. “Why didn’t they come in?” He knew neither he nor Bucky had locked the door when Sam had left earlier.

“I took the liberty of informing them that you and Sergeant Barnes required privacy, but that answer proved unacceptable. Mr. Stark has since been attempting to override my security settings. Now that you and Sergeant Barnes are again in your human forms, I’m afraid I will no longer be able to maintain door lock integrity.”

“Because...?” Steve could answer his question the moment after he asked it. “We aren’t an active threat to contain anymore. Right. Okay.” He looked over at Bucky as he continued speaking to JARVIS. “Tell them we’re fine and that we still want privacy, but I’ll explain things when we’re cleaned up.” He didn’t relish having to tell any of the team that he’d just become a werewolf. Especially not Nat.

“Very good, Captain,” JARVIS answered.

“Thanks, JARVIS. Hey, wait. What was it alerted them, anyway?” Steve took his time standing to make sure he wouldn’t fall over, though Bucky was right there with him.

“Sam attempted to return here. When there was no response to his knock, he requested my assistance in gaining entry.”

“Which you denied. Thanks, by the way. But he — what? — called for backup?” As he and Bucky started walking toward the ensuite bathroom, Steve realized how glad he was Sam hadn’t witnessed whatever had just happened.

“He requested Mr. Stark’s aid in overriding my programming. And while he seems satisfied with your response, Agent Romanoff is demanding to speak to you, Captain.”

Not wanting to freak Nat out, but unsure if making her wait or going to the door as he was would be more upsetting, Steve looked worriedly at Bucky. He was covered in Steve’s blood, which meant Steve was just as much a mess. “Tell her I’ll be right there?”

“Very good, Captain.”

“I guess she’s not gonna be happy about this,” Bucky said, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist as they headed for the bedroom.

“No. And I hadn’t thought of that.” Steve shook his head at himself. “The last thing I want to do is upset her. But if I’m only in human form around her it should be okay, right?”

“You’ll know if she’s afraid.” Bucky shot Steve a look. “You’ll smell it on her. It makes her prey, sort of.” Maybe he felt Steve’s shock, or maybe he’d thought the same thing once, because he laughed and added, “Not like a deer or something. But you’ll want to drive her away. Scare her off.”

Steve followed Bucky from the bedroom into the bathroom. “But I’d never want to do that to her. Especially because she wouldn’t run. She’d kill me.”

He felt a surge of protectiveness — a sort of silent, mental growl — and he _knew_ Bucky was thinking that Natasha would have a hell of a lot harder time hurting Steve as long as Bucky was with him.

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed. “I know. I just meant that Nat’s not prey. How strong is that feeling when you smell fear?”

“In human form? Not very.” Bucky shrugged and turned to rub his face against Steve’s hand, brushing off flakes of dried blood. “It’s just a background thing. It’s stronger in the other forms, but it doesn’t matter as much, ’cause you _know_ she’s not food. Hell, a wolf might find it funny, like... playing or something.”

“But Buck, it’s not play for her when she sees you in wolf form. She gets triggered. That’s not funny.” Steve frowned at Bucky, even while stepping forward, just to be closer to him.

“I know. But with wolves... It’s us and them,” he said with a frown of his own, though Steve knew he was calm — perhaps calmer than he’d been in decades. “If your instinct says she’s ‘them’ but you tell yourself she’s ‘us’, you might do it anyway, to show her that yeah, she can be afraid, but she doesn’t have to be?” he ventured uncertainly.

Steve realized that Bucky was talking more than he had so far. It felt good to hear him expressing himself, even if Steve didn’t always understand what he meant. “Do _what_ anyway?”

Bucky tipped his head thoughtfully, then grinned and pulled back, dropping to all fours, in wolf form. A sense of relaxation washed over Steve, threaded through with a deep love and loyalty aimed directly at him.

And that didn’t change, even when Bucky pulled back his lips and growled, low and deep and... not so terrifying at all, actually. The sound that would’ve evoked an instinctive fear now brought no reaction at all. Even when Bucky let out a sharp bark, fur bristling, Steve’s only desire was to ruffle his fur and laugh, because he _knew_ Bucky was playing, with no malice or anger in him at all.

“That’s amazing, babe.” Steve dropped to his knees on the bathmat and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck. “But would Nat feel that? The good part? Or is it because of our connection?”

Bucky barked again, much more softly, and then shoved, trying to climb on top of Steve — not out of fear, but again out of playful affection.

Steve laughed and shoved back, wishing he knew how to change into wolf form. “Okay, okay, I know. But _shower,_ Buck. We look like axe murderers. And I need to go talk to her, remember?” He tugged off his shirt and tossed it aside.

Bucky sat, then shifted into his skin, grinning. “Stupid. Werewolves don’t need axes.”

Still feeling a little high off of Bucky’s flood of good feeling toward him, Steve huffed out a breath and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Fine. We look like werewolves.”

“Stupid again,” Bucky scolded, looking down at himself. “Werewolves have better fashion sense than _this_ — nothing but blood and skin. I always looked damn fine on our dates, didn’t I? I remember that.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. He knew he sounded like a fan club member or something, but he didn’t care. “Especially once you got your uniform.”

A gleam came into Bucky’s eye, and he lowered his voice to say, “Bet we could break into the museum and steal it.”

“ _Borrow_ it, maybe. When I return mine.” Steve didn’t want to acknowledge how much the prospect of seeing Bucky in his dress uniform affected him, but he had a feeling Bucky could tell anyway. “Shower, Buck. Come on.”

Bucky got to his feet and let Steve pull him over to the luxuriously appointed shower, big enough for three close friends — or two werewolves. “Snow.”

Shaking his head, Steve shucked off his pants and stepped into the stall. “Even when I’m inside your head you don’t make sense.”

“Snow!” Bucky insisted, following him into the shower. “We should go somewhere with snow so we can play in it. You’ll love it.”

“I spent seventy years buried in snow. I don’t know if I need any more.” Steve couldn’t help remembering the last time he and Bucky were in a snowy place — that last time Steve had seen Bucky alive before he showed up as the enemy a week ago.

“Hey. Right here,” Bucky said, pulling Steve away from the shower controls and into his arms. “Nothing’s taking you away from me — never again.”

Steve hugged him tight and let his breathing and heartbeat be ruled by the calmness and steadiness of Bucky’s. He swallowed to be able to whisper in Bucky’s ear, “Please, God. Not again. I couldn’t stand it again, Buck.”

“Shh,” Bucky whispered, stroking his hands down Steve’s back. “Here. Shift down. Let’s see what kinda gorgeous wolf you are, baby.”

“I don’t know how.” Steve’s throat was still tight, and he sniffed before letting go enough to look at Bucky’s face. “Teach me?”

“Just drop down, and... _be_ what’s inside you. I dunno how to explain it.” Bucky frowned, still petting down Steve’s body. “You’ve got to push away all the human stuff — all the irrational shit humans do to themselves and each other. Wolves are complex, yeah, but also real simple.”

It shouldn’t have, but what Bucky said made sense. Steve felt like a fool trying this, but once he’d crouched down and cleared his mind, it was the easiest thing to find the wolf and chase it into being. Everything in him unhinged for a second as it reshaped itself, but then the new form seemed so natural, the shift was just like sneezing and feeling better afterwards.

Despite having too many legs, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at Bucky, who crouched down in front of him and ruffled his fur, sending pleasantly warm shivers through his whole body. He could clearly hear Bucky’s breathing, and his nose was full of the smell of his own blood and Bucky’s scent and the chemical stink of the new — now destroyed — carpet and paint... It would have been overwhelming, but Bucky was there with him, calm and steady enough to help Steve keep his composure.

“Look at you,” Bucky said, his voice full of love and contentment. “You’re gorgeous.”

A rumble of pleasure vibrated in Steve’s throat, and he leaned into Bucky’s touch. Aside from the riot of smells, there was nothing else to focus on but Bucky’s presence, which helped him feel secure and wanted. Gratitude poured off him as if it had its own scent, and without thinking about it he licked Bucky’s wrist, tasting salt and blood and skin.

“See? We’re together now, and we always will be,” Bucky said, though his words held less meaning than the feel of his hands and the sound of his voice. “Want me to wash your fur? It’ll feel good. It did when you did it for me.”

Steve pushed forward and pressed his face against Bucky’s chest. The blood was starting to dry, so there was just Bucky’s scent in his nose. The only thought in Steve’s head was the phrase ‘always together’. It wasn’t even the words, just the feeling — the promise of connection, the fulfilment of a desire they had shared since childhood. Steve pressed forward a bit more, wanting to be as close to Bucky as possible.

“Here, what about this?” Bucky asked, reaching back so he could turn on the water. It was ice cold, but though Steve felt nothing but a pleasant chill through his fur, Bucky swore under his breath and quickly shifted into wolf form. He was a little bit smaller than Steve, but he fitted right up against Steve’s body, head turned to rest on his back, chests pressed together. Steve could feel the difference between Bucky’s heartbeat and his own, though they both began to slow.

As the water heated up, Steve buried his face in Bucky’s side, getting the complex scent in his nose and parsing out the smells — Bucky’s musk and his sweat and the lingering sweetness of sugary cereal and the salty, oily scent of popcorn, and the saliva that had cleaned most of it off his fur. Mostly Steve just wanted the mixture of bodily smells that was recognizably Bucky, to learn it and never again forget what home smelled like. He took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh, nudging Bucky with his muzzle just to feel him move.

It was easy for him to read Bucky’s exhale as a laugh, because he could feel the happiness that filled Bucky’s mind and heart. Bucky nuzzled Steve back, then slapped his right front paw down, splashing water up over Steve’s legs. Then he lowered the front half of his body, and his tail wagged hard as he barked.

An invitation to play.

Steve’s heart pulled at him, the urge strong to jump and nip and paw at Bucky — to get into a friendly tussle and roll around a bit — but there was no room in the shower, and the tile was wet, and four legs were still a lot to deal with. And the two of them were big enough to do some damage. Steve barked back at Bucky and panted, mouth hanging open in a grin, but he didn’t follow his desire to play. There had been a reason they’d gotten in the shower, something Steve only vaguely remembered, and he didn’t want to lose it completely in all the fun.

Bucky’s jaw dropped in a grin of his own, and he pushed his muzzle against Steve’s — not in a kiss, but as a playful way of showing he wasn’t a threat — before he got up onto his hind legs and shifted back into his skin.

“Stubborn wolf,” Bucky accused, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. He gestured at the array of bottles lined up in a niche in the marble wall and asked, “Which of these do you want? Or do you care?”

Steve directed his nose toward the bottles, then sniffed and exhaled in a huff. They all had artificial scents, and he didn’t want his coat smelling like that. He knocked the plain white bar of soap off the soap dish and grinned.

“You don’t like all the fancy stuff? Me neither.” Bucky rubbed the soap between his hands, filling the shower with the clean scent. Then he put the bar back down and started scratching deep into Steve’s thick coat of fur. “I can give you a good brushing when you’re dry, too.”

If Bucky’s apparent bliss earlier was anything to go by, Steve would very much like that. He wagged his tail, enjoying the completely novel feeling of expressing contentment with his whole body — from his wagging tail to his perked ears to the way his jaw hung open. He let his tongue loll out of his mouth at the blissful feel of Bucky’s hands in his fur, but even as he could have lost himself in sensation, he knew there was something urgent that needed to be done. The shower was to get clean; the brushing could wait until later.

He stood still while Bucky washed his back and sides, but he learned quickly that his belly was ticklish and he didn’t have the patience for Bucky washing his legs and tail. Instead he nudged hard at Bucky’s chest, almost enough to knock him back on his ass, and licked his face in appreciation.

Bucky laughed — a sound Steve was coming to love, especially now that he could experience Bucky’s joyous amusement for himself. “All right, already. Lemme finish up real quick.” He turned towards the spray, shifting into his hybrid form as he did. He tipped up his head and combed his claws through the fur around his throat and muzzle, contentment radiating from him.

Steve stared at how beautiful Bucky was — the power in his muscular body and the sheen of his wet coat. There was no longer even a reflexive fear of Bucky in his werewolf form, and Steve idly wondered if that was to do with, as Bucky had called it, the us/them way wolves functioned. Steve had always known Bucky to be _us,_ but the hybrid form looked so very much like _them_ to him when he was human that it was hard to adjust. He had, and that made him feel good to remember, but now it was much clearer to him that he and Bucky were _us_ like never before. Steve thought he’d understood the concepts of chosen family and pack before, but he’d really had no idea.

He nudged Bucky’s thick, furry thigh with his muzzle to get his attention. When Bucky turned to look down at him, Steve realized that he just wanted Bucky’s huge hands on him. Not being able to speak — not having as strong a desire to speak — helped Steve understand what he actually wanted, and he didn’t have to use words to get it.

Bucky’s jaw opened wide, and he turned fully, dropping to a crouch. “I’m right here,” he growled, and his words were much more comprehensible now, as if Steve’s wolf-ears — or, more likely, his werewolf-brain — could compensate for how Bucky’s jaw and tongue deformed the English language. Bucky scratched at Steve’s ears and the sides of his neck, claws working through the fur and down to the skin.

It felt even better than fingers, and Steve shivered in delight at the sensation. He knew in a moment he’d have to shift back into human form, but he reveled in the feeling of being with Bucky like this — the simple, easy intimacy, the comforting touch — and knowing how much they both wanted it. He closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling for another few seconds before he looked up at Bucky with a quizzical expression. He wanted to shift into human, but he wasn’t sure how.

Not that Bucky was concerned with Steve’s four-legged state. He scratched down Steve’s body and leaned close to nose at the side of Steve’s jaw, playfully affectionate. “After a little practice, you’ll get used to having four legs. If it’s safe, we can get out of the city and go for a run in the woods.”

Something deep inside Steve thrilled at the idea, even though he knew how risky it could be. He whined at Bucky and wagged his tail, then stood on all four legs and shifted his weight, still not sure how stable he was.

Bucky caught his forelegs, asking, “You want back in your skin? ’Cause you’re damn useless for washing my back like that.” Steve whined and nodded even as he gave Bucky his wolfy grin. Bucky nuzzled at the side of Steve’s jaw, saying, “Thumbs. Think about holding something in one hand, like a gun.”

Steve’s mind went straight to his shield. And as he thought about curling his fingers around the grip, he rose up on his hind legs, only to find himself standing on two human feet as his fur simply disappeared. There was the briefest sensation of tension, as if he didn’t quite fit into his skin, and then...

“Oh. It’s so simple.” Steve blinked up at Bucky, who had also stood, and grinned. He poked Bucky’s chest. “Teach me how to shift to this form after I’ve” — it took him a second to remember what he was supposed to do — “talked with Nat.”

Steve felt a spike of apprehension go through Bucky. “Yeah. Okay,” Bucky said as he shifted into his skin.

“What’s the matter?” Now that Bucky was shorter than him, the water sprayed down on both of them, and the bounce of droplets off Bucky’s shoulders made Steve squint.

“Are you gonna tell her?”

Shrugging, Steve replied, “If she asks, I’m not gonna lie. We trust each other, and I won’t jeopardize that.”

Bucky sighed, the sound full of resignation that Steve could feel radiating from him. “She’ll be angry. I won’t let her hurt you.”

Touching Bucky’s chin to bring his eyes up, Steve said, “She won’t hurt me, even if she’s angry. She’s my friend, and I trust her. It’ll be fine, babe.”


	25. Chapter 25

“You did _what?_ ”

Natasha’s shout echoed and bounced off all the glass in the penthouse greatroom, making Tony think that he should’ve gone for reinforced plas-crete walls instead. Of course, the chemical formula for plas-crete was still in development, and the initial stock that had gone into reinforcing the gym would’ve bankrupted anyone who wasn’t Tony Stark. Besides, Pepper had demanded windows, despite the likelihood of Avengers Tower being a magnet for every bad guy on Earth and in every adjacent universe.

Prudently, Tony started pouring doubles, figuring they were all going to need the alcohol by the time this little conversation was finished. _Captain Werewolf,_ he thought wryly, making his own drink a triple. It didn’t have the same ring as _Captain America_. And the PR division was going to freak the hell out.

“I’m sorry if I worried you...” Steve glanced at Sam and Tony but the apology was directed at Nat.

“I’m sorry for causing a fuss,” Sam said. “When you guys didn’t answer the door, JARVIS got a little evasive with his explanations —”

“He didn’t explain at all,” Nat said bluntly.

“Hey,” Tony protested, feeling the need to defend his AI, even if that AI had stubbornly refused to open the door. “He was operating within normal parameters, responding to the potential security threat...” He trailed off, eyeing Steve a little skeptically. If one werewolf posed a security threat, what challenges would _two_ present? Especially when both of them were super-soldiers. He was going to need to think long and hard about this before bringing Pepper back home.

“JARVIS did the right thing. The change is apparently not something that should be interrupted — or witnessed.” Steve winced and added, “I wasn’t even sure I should tell you.”

“Nobody else needs to know,” Tony said before Nat could latch onto the thought of Steve lying to her, even by omission. He gestured at Steve with his drink, saying, “I mean, look at you. No fur, no slavering jaws full of blood and guts. A haircut at a decent salon, a tailored suit, and you’re Joe Ordinary again. Except, you know, the shoulders.”

“I didn’t do this to be a werewolf. I did to to be with Bucky. I won’t take my other forms in public, ever. Nat...” Steve really did have his puppydog eyes perfected. Fitting, given this latest development.

“Right. So, no press conferences for either of you at the full moon,” Tony said, cutting through any more objections Natasha might have. Sam was suspiciously quiet — or at least as ‘suspicious’ as the guy got. Really, he was too _good_ to be hanging out with the band of misfits and fuck-ups that made up the Avengers. Him and Bruce both, actually, except for Bruce’s ‘other guy’ problem.

“It’s —”

Tony narrowed his eyes as his brain jumped across the Nice Guy Bridge from Bruce back to Sam, and he asked, “Are you also a werewolf?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Alien hybrid? Possessed? Lab experiment gone wrong?”

“Tony,” Natasha said, giving him a look of death — which was a good thing, at least sort of, because that look wasn’t turned on Steve, who wasn’t used to that sort of glare. Not the way Tony was.

“Tony, stop. Sam, ignore him. Nat...” Steve barely looked away from Nat as he spoke. He put his hands up in surrender and stepped slowly closer to her. “I’m sorry.”

She held her ground and met his eyes, saying, “Don’t. I should have anticipated this.” It came out calm but the way she shook her head, tense and quick, and the way her jaw twitched betrayed her emotions as clearly as a scream. Tony made hers a triple, too, just in case.

Steve stopped moving forward but didn’t drop his hands. “I promise I’ll never...” He shook his head and looked at her like he wanted to apologize again. Tony was sure he didn’t only because she’d told him not to.

She straightened up, the sort of borderline drawing-back movement that made Tony frown. He picked up his drink and hers, then headed right for the awkward not-quite-standoff. “So, the plan’s still good,” he said, just loudly enough to draw all eyes. “Steve, are my people announcing an engagement or is that premature?” He held out Natasha’s glass to her. The fact that she took it without so much as a suspicious blink was another betrayal of her state of mind.

Stepping back to create a circle with the three of them, Steve furrowed his brow as he answered, “Don’t, Tony. This isn’t something to make into PR campaign. Especially not with Bucky.”

“Too late,” Tony said, though he did dial it back a notch. “As the elf chick said, our list of allies grows thin.”

“That was Elrond,” Sam put in.

“Right. Point is, you’ve still got the remnants of their Captain Most Wanted scheme to deal with, and that means we need friends. As long as you’re cuddling up to another guy, the right wingers won’t see you as a threat to anything more than marriage, and at that point the left is practically obliged to be on your side.”

“Shit.” Steve’s hands went to his hips and he looked down at the floor. “The ‘other guy’ stays _completely_ out of the spotlight. And no, there are no wedding bells in the future.” He looked up at Tony, face unreadable. “Not even for your PR people.”

“I can think of at least four people on the PR team who’ll be crying into their pillows, but fine. I’d planned on _not_ showing off your boyfriend, given the whole ‘most dangerous assassin in the world’ angle,” Tony said as he went back to the bar. He polished off his drink as he walked, just so he could refill it before he picked up Sam’s glass.

Behind him, Steve sighed heavily. “So what do you need from me, then?”

“On the PR front, nothing at the moment. On the ‘HYDRA’s still out there’ front, fuck if I know. They’re not making any moves now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen soon.” Tony brought Sam a triple, too, thinking he should probably play the role of polite host while Pepper was gone. He didn’t bother offering Steve a drink. Instead, he sat down on the couch before remembering it was hideously expensive, extremely fashionable, and stupidly uncomfortable.

Perhaps wisely, Natasha went to an armchair instead of taking the open spot on the couch between Tony and Sam. “We can’t make any move without intel. There’s no sense in exposing ourselves like that.”

“Working on it,” Tony said. “If they so much as twitch, JARVIS will let us know.”

“So, what? We have to just sit and wait some more?” Steve leaned against the arm of the couch closest to Sam and crossed his arms.

“We can’t move without a target,” Natasha said a little more calmly. “What about the S.H.I.E.L.D. files? Anything useful in them?”

“You have no idea,” Tony said with the night’s first grin.

Looking decidedly disturbed but intrigued at the same time, Steve said, “Do we want to know?”

“Let’s just say that Nat’s little info-dump was enough to have the government scrambling to cover its collective ass instead of hunting us down.”

“Good thing, too,” Natasha said.

“So we wait,” Sam said, looking up at Steve. “You okay with that?”

The shrug Steve gave looked more like he was hugging himself. “I’d feel better if I knew what we were waiting for.”

With a wry smile, Sam lifted his glass in a toast. “That’s why you’re the one in charge.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smirk around his mouth. “Thanks. But if that’s true, then I say this meeting is adjourned. I’m not dead. I’m the same as I’ve always been, just with sharper senses and a much closer bond with Bucky. And there’s nothing we can do about anything else. So, everyone’s dismissed.”

“Dismissed, hell,” Tony said with a grin. Steve really was kind of cute when he got all military in a clearly civilian situation. “The bar’s right here. Refill, anyone?”

Natasha stood and set her glass down on the coffee table. “Thanks, but no. I’m still catching up on sleep.”

“You know drinking does nothing for me, Tony. I’m gonna bow out, too.” Steve’s gaze kept skipping to Natasha as he straightened up.

Something passed between them, something too subtle for Tony to catch. Maybe Sam read the situation, because he also got up, finishing his drink in two quick swallows. “I think I’ll also call it a night. Why don’t you get some rest, too?” he suggested, giving Tony a look that didn’t work unless it was coming from Pepper. Or sometimes Rhodey.

“Yep. Go to bed, kids.” Tony waved them away and used the excuse of everyone leaving so he could get the hell off the terrible couch. He’d have to burn it next time he was experimenting with explosives. For now, he watched the three of them walk off, and he noted the way they all seemed to have gone distant from one another.

Shit. That damned werewolf had driven a wedge into the team — and Tony _still_ hadn’t gotten a look at that arm of his. Werewolves weren’t this complicated on TV.

 

~~~

 

The elevator ride down to their living quarters was quiet, but Steve could feel that it wasn’t charged. Nat was silent, but that wasn’t new. The part that was different was that Steve could smell the fear on her as it dissipated. She was dealing with it — handling it, as she’d said. She really was stronger than everyone else.

Sam, on the other hand, attempted friendly conversation, but there was something off. Now that Steve could hear more acutely, he could detect fatigue in Sam’s voice. It seemed like something he was really good at hiding, but the flatness of his expressions and voice was now apparent to Steve.

Steve had always been good with leading his troops, knowing how to motivate them and how to help them through the downtime between fights. Now, he gave his friends what they needed, stepping away from Nat — giving her a bit of distance — to rest a supportive hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam grinned at him and held back when the elevator doors opened, letting Nat go first.

Her door was the first on the right. She scanned in and murmured a quick, “Good night,” as they followed her into the hallway.

“G’night, Nat.” Steve tried to imbue his voice with as much warmth as possible, since he couldn’t hug her.

“Don’t forget to get _some_ sleep tonight,” Sam told Steve as Nat’s door latched.

Turning his attention back to Sam, Steve smiled. “Bucky and I sleep well together. I’m not worried about that.” They stopped in front of the door that was now Sam’s as Steve continued, “But I hope you get good rest; I bet you could use it.”

Sam shot Steve a curious look. “Say goodnight to Bucky for me,” he said as he went inside.

“Will do. Goodnight.” Steve waited until the door closed behind Sam to move on to Bucky’s door — his and Bucky’s. He lifted a hand to knock just as the feeling of happy anticipation hit him, and he knew Bucky was just on the other side of the door.

It opened to the lightest touch, with both their hands on the doorknobs. “You’re okay,” Bucky said with a smile.

Mirroring that smile as he entered, Steve replied, “Yeah, I am. Why wouldn’t I be, when I get to come home to you?” He reached out to run his hand down Bucky’s arm. Bucky had put on sweatpants but hadn’t bothered with a shirt.

“Nobody tried anything?” Bucky asked, pushing against Steve’s hand for a moment. Then he let go of the door so he could wrap his arms around Steve’s body.

“No. Nat’s angry, and she’s scared of me, but I have faith that she can work through it and be okay.” A twinge of regret found its way to Steve — one that had a different tone than his own, laced with guilt. It made him wrap his arms around Bucky’s back to comfort him. “Tony’s Tony — more worried about my gay image than my werewolfness, and Sam just needed to see that I was fine. Though I’m kinda worried about him.”

Bucky’s growl was slightly inquisitive, though he seemed more concerned with nuzzling Steve’s neck than asking questions. “I ripped out the carpet,” he muttered against Steve’s skin. “JARVIS told me where the incinerator chute was, so I got rid of it and the bloody cushions.”

_Shit._

First Sam’s couch, then Tony’s carpet. A pang of anxiety ran through Steve. “And JARVIS thought that was okay? I could do without Tony being mad at us for deconstructing his new apartment...”

Bucky shrugged, calm and unconcerned. “Steve, that was _a lot_ of blood. It wasn’t coming out.”

“Shit. Okay.” Steve ran his hands up and down Bucky’s naked back. “How did you stop it? When I was bleeding?”

Bucky laughed and leaned back enough to meet Steve’s eyes. “I bit through the back of your neck, Steve. And I kept your heart from stopping, so you bled the whole damn time.”

Hearing it described like that was shocking to Steve. “But... How did you stop it? Why didn’t I bleed out and die?”

“I dunno,” Bucky said honestly, moving his hands up to cup Steve’s jaw. “It’s not what that doctor did to you in the war, because it works on regular humans, too. You bite through the spine, and then you keep licking until the wound’s healed.”

“Jesus. Okay.” Steve put his hands on top of Bucky’s and pulled the right one off of his face so he could turn and kiss the palm. “Then licking helps it heal? That wasn’t just my serum making me heal fast, was it?”

“Give me _some_ credit here,” Bucky said, amused. “It wasn’t easy, you know. I don’t actually _like_ the taste of blood.”

Smirking at Bucky’s fake petulance, Steve snarked, “I’d apologize for bleeding all over you, but I couldn’t help it since you practically _bit my head off._ ”

Instead of taking offense — or, worse, instead of cringing back the way he might have — Bucky burst out laughing. “Watch it, punk,” he threatened, eyes bright. He dropped his hands to Steve’s shoulders and shoved, a playful little growl escaping.

A ray of bright joy shot through Steve, making everything in him feel like it was glowing. _This_ was Steve’s Bucky. This was how they used to be — how they’d always been with each other. Gratitude at having him back choked Steve for a moment. He would have gone through twenty werewolf bites to have their old dynamic back like this again. He responded by celebrating the familiar with the utterly novel; he tugged off his T-shirt, dropped to all fours, then found the wolf inside, bringing him out to play. His tail was caught uncomfortably in his pants, and it took him a moment to step out of them. Once he did, he looked up at Bucky, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Bucky’s paws hit the floor a heartbeat later. Kicking free of the sweatpants, he let out a happy, high-pitched bark and then lunged at Steve, tackling him. They fell together in a sprawl of paws and tails, biting at the air and growling in mock-ferocity at one another. It was the easiest thing, surrendering to the lure of the wolf’s love of play, and tussling together helped affirm the connection between them. Steve reveled in it. It felt simple, expressing their happiness physically, with no need for thoughts or words to define what they felt together.

They flung themselves around and tugged and pushed, and their paws scrabbled on the floor, claws digging into the wood as they lunged and fell and growled and yipped. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged in innocent, unrestrained play like this. As a child, he’d been too weak, and when he’d been given the strength, duty had consumed him. It felt so good to remember life wasn’t all about responsibility. Though, to be fair, Bucky had always taken it as his job to be the reminder of that.

Distracted, Steve couldn’t dodge Bucky’s charge, and they bowled over together. More practiced at being a wolf, Bucky scrambled to his feet and stood over Steve, panting and grinning down at him, tongue hanging out. Steve thought about digging his fingers into the thick fur of Bucky’s neck, and he shifted in the span of a moment into his human form to do just that.

Bucky ducked his head and licked Steve’s cheek before shifting into his own skin. “Can we get pizza?” he asked between deep, fast breaths.

Steve laughed out loud and nodded his head, then pulled Bucky down so their hot, sweaty bodies were pressed together. “Anything you want, babe.”


	26. Chapter 26

Steve came awake quickly — more quickly than he’d done as a human, even back during the war. No drowsiness, no lingering cobwebs to shake out of his brain. He lifted his head, ears pricked to catch any sound, inhaling through his nose to catch the room’s scents.

Bucky was curled up with him, a warm presence against his body and inside his mind, still deeply asleep. Reassured that there was no immediate threat, Steve concentrated even harder, trying to catch whatever had awakened him.

A quiet sound, too quiet for him to have heard in human form. A sound full of fear and stress, carried on air scented lightly with sweat.

 _Sam_.

He was next door, in the apartment that was to have been Steve’s, and though the bedrooms didn’t share a wall, apparently Steve’s senses were sharp enough to catch the faintest trace of... _danger._

Sam was in danger. There was no other explanation for the combination of impressions Steve was receiving. He was up and out of bed before his mind had caught up with him. He trotted to the front door, but when he reached for the doorknob he realized he was naked in his human form. He headed back to the bedroom and found a pair of sweats, then went out into the quiet hall. Sam’s door looked like it hadn’t been tampered with, and when Steve tried the handle it was locked. He knocked gently as he trained his senses on the rooms behind the door, trying to catch any hint of what was wrong.

“Sam? It’s me.”

In human form, his hearing wasn’t as acute, but he heard the low tones of JARVIS’ synthesized voice. Then the latch clicked, and Sam pulled open the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep, even though he was still fully dressed, right down to his boots.

“I thought that was my line. You all right?” Steve could smell the fear on him and reached out automatically to comfort him.

“Yeah, fine.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his eyes and stepped back as if uncertain if he was supposed to invite Steve inside. “What’s going on?”

“I dunno. You’re not in danger? Everything felt wrong, but maybe I misunderstood. My senses are all new.” Steve blinked, then looked at this from a human standpoint. Admittedly, it must have seemed weird. But then, _because_ he was human, he took another look at Sam, fully dressed though obviously exhausted, as if he’d fallen asleep in his clothes the way a soldier would, in the field — boots on, weapon close at hand, ready to defend against an ambush. He squeezed Sam's shoulder comfortingly. “Sam...”

Shaking his head, Sam warned, “If you tell me werewolves are psychic, Steve...”

Brow furrowing, Steve answered gently, “Only with each other, remember? But I can hear things and smell them.” He gestured at Sam’s clothes, “And see them. Hypervigilance.”

“Shit,” Sam muttered, heading for the couch. Judging by the position of the cushions, he’d been sleeping there instead of on the bed. “What the hell’s an army grunt doing playing shrink?”

Steve stepped inside but didn’t sit. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, I can go, but you always say it helps...”

“Figures, the first officer to actually listen to me is you,” Sam said with a laugh. “It’s nothing, man. It’s only been a few days. I’m just having trouble sleeping, that’s all.”

In all the drama around the helicarrier attack — and after, with Steve’s preoccupation with Bucky — Steve had completely forgotten that Sam had PTSD. Considering what had happened with Riley, of course he did. But Steve hadn’t factored in what helping Captain America save the country would have done to a vet like Sam. And at what personal cost. “Shit. Sam, I’m so sorry. How can I help?”

Sam shrugged, his smile wry. “Two weeks in the Bahamas might do it. But considering the whole damned world might decide to start hunting us any minute, I think I’m safer here.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t _feel_ safe, it’s not gonna help.” Steve leaned against the arm of the couch. “Want me to guard the door or something?”

Sam laughed, though Steve could hear how strained it was. “Guard werewolf, huh? I can get a stick, if you want to play fetch.”

Smiling at the attempt to take the offer lightly, Steve said, “I’m serious. What would help you feel safe? I can smell the fear, Sam.”

Sam shook his head, resting his elbows on his knees as he closed his eyes for a moment, radiating a sense of exhaustion. “In all my time working at the VA, I’ve never found the answer to that. I don’t think there is one. But shouldn’t you be with Bucky? He’s been through a hell of a lot more than you and me put together, I’d guess.”

“Bucky fell asleep fine,” Steve said, though he could feel that Bucky was awake now, drowsy but focused on whatever he was feeling through their pack-link. “He’s doing a lot better now because he doesn’t feel alone. We can both keep you company, if that would feel good. I just want you to get rest.”

“I’m not gonna interrupt your honeymoon,” Sam said, giving Steve a grin that felt genuine. “And I’m sure as hell not gonna make a werewolf jealous.”

Steve couldn’t help smirking at that. “I don’t think werewolves get jealous. At least Bucky doesn't. And if the two of us have your back, that’s gotta be something, right?” He let himself feel the strong desire for Bucky to join him and tried to extend it outward, hoping it would translate roughly into _‘come to me.’_

“Jesus. I’m not a kid who needs to sleep with a teddy bear,” Sam said, though his grin widened. “You know, normal people wouldn’t find it _comforting_ having two werewolves offer to stay the night.”

“Good thing you’re not normal, Sam.” Steve moved to sit down on the couch, certain that Sam’s better mood was an indication that he was wanted — and that Sam’s protests weren’t genuine.

“Was it always like this for you? I mean, I saw some weird shit over there, but you... you aren’t even fazed over this werewolf business.”

“You know I used to be five-foot-four and weighed ninety-five pounds, right? The serum that gave me this body — the guy who took it before me ended up with his head turned into a red skull. One of the Avengers is from a different universe and can call down lightning at will. Another turns into a huge green rage-monster. Werewolves are child’s play, Sam.”

Sam shook his head, but before he could answer, JARVIS interrupted, saying, “Pardon me, Sam, but Sergeant Barnes is at the door.”

“Let him in, please,” Sam said, glancing at Steve. “Not psychic, huh?”

Smiling a little too big to not be goofy, Steve replied, “I wanted him to come over. He came. I told you — only with each other.”

“You sure you want this guy in your head, Bucky?” Sam called, leaning over to look at the wolf that trotted into the apartment.

Bucky’s bark was an obvious laugh. He went right to the couch and jumped up — aiming to land between Sam and Steve, but he was too big to do anything but end up _on_ them instead. Steve ended up with the back end, tail wagging against his face before he got his hand up as a shield.

“Sometimes I wonder why I want this huge furball in my _bed,_ but...” Steve swatted Bucky’s rump and grabbed hold of his tail so it wouldn’t take out an eye. “I do find petting him soothing.” He looked over Bucky at Sam, who was scratching at Bucky’s chest and throat, making Bucky yawn.

“You mean he’s a spoiled werewolf,” Sam said, barely covering a yawn of his own.

“He is now I’ve got him. Though at this point I feel like one too.” Steve patted Bucky’s back as he said, “Come on, Buck. Let’s help get Sam to sleep. It’s time for us to spoil him a bit.”

Sam barely had a chance to say, “You don’t —” before Bucky licked at his face, forcing him to shut his mouth and turn away, laughing. Seizing the advantage, Bucky barked at him and kept licking until Sam got off the couch. Then the wolf looked smugly back at Steve.

Laughing, Steve rose as well, but kept his hand on Bucky’s back. “Get ready for bed, Sam. Then tell us where you want us.” To head off any more polite denials, Steve closed his eyes and dropped down to the floor, bringing the wolf out in time to land on his paws.

Sam swore under his breath, eyes going wide, and Steve realized he’d only ever seen Bucky shift. “You’re — You can do that already?” he asked, holding out a hand before he caught himself and pulled back.

Steve nodded as he wriggled out of his sweats then stepped within reach of Sam. He wagged his tail and brushed his nose against Sam’s hand, inviting him to touch.

“Look at you,” Sam said quietly, crouching down to run his hands over Steve’s fur. His touch was soft and relaxing — until Bucky nosed under Sam’s hand, demanding some attention of his own. With a sharp laugh, Sam ruffled Bucky’s fur, then shoved him away, saying, “Yeah, I get it. You do good work, greedy.”

Letting out a friendly bark, Steve let his concern for Sam spread to where Bucky was sure to pick up on it. Then he nudged Sam hard with his muzzle to remind him about bed. Bucky went a step further, ducking his head to nip at the cuffs of Sam’s jeans. Startled, Sam jumped back. Bucky wagged his tail as if to remind Sam he was harmless, then went for his ankle again — driving him towards the bedroom door, Steve realized.

After another step back, Sam caught on. “Okay, okay. I’m going,” he surrendered. He went into the bedroom, followed by both wolves, then sat down on the foot of the bed. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he asked as he bent down to take off his boots.

Steve looked over at Bucky, then lay down on the floor to show he wasn’t moving. Bucky shot Steve a sly wolfy grin before he jumped over Steve and up onto the bed, where he dug at the blankets — tearing into the comforter a couple of times, judging by the sounds — so he could burrow underneath.

“That answers my question about wolves on the bed,” Sam said, tossing one boot aside. As he bent to take off the other one, he asked Steve, “You staying down there? Is he that much of a blanket-hog? I can bed down on the floor if it’s safer.”

Grinning, Steve shook his head, then stood up to push his head against Sam’s knee and whine impatiently. He wasn’t going to get on the bed until Sam did, to make sure there was room.

“Pushy,” Sam accused, getting rid of his other boot. Then he got up and went around to the side of the bed that wasn’t occupied.

Bucky was completely buried under the blanket, though he lifted his head enough to reveal his muzzle. Steve could feel his tired impatience like a background whisper: _Sleep now. Sleep now. Sleep now._

Sam laid down, under the blanket but close to the edge of the bed, giving Bucky as much room as possible. Bucky let out a huff of breath and tossed his head to fling the blanket back. He looked at Steve, exasperated, thoughts full of the warmth and companionship of sleeping in a pile, all of them cuddled together.

Drawn to that image like a moth to flame, Steve trotted around to Sam’s side of the bed and whined at him, pressing his nose into Sam’s back. He didn’t want to be to coercive, but he knew that the idea of safety in numbers was something that had always helped him in the field. If Sam could feel their presence around him, maybe he really would be able to rest.

“Okay, okay, I get the hint,” Sam said with a laugh, moving as close to the center of the bed as he could get. “But if I end up smothered to death by werewolves, _you_ get to tell Natasha.”

Letting out a happy bark, Steve hopped onto the bed behind Sam and licked the back of his head. Sam laughed and rolled away, pulling the blanket up as a shield. Steve nosed under it, then turned and flopped down with his back pressed up against Sam’s. It didn’t matter that his legs hung off the edge of the bed, because this wasn’t about Steve’s comfort. If it took Steve all night to fall asleep, as long as Sam got _som_ e shut-eye it would be worth it.

But Sam was nothing if not courteous. “Move over, you damn walking sofa,” he said, giving Bucky a shove to make more room for Steve. Their combined weight made the mattress sag, collapsing them all together in the middle of the bed. Sam ended up curled around Bucky, with Steve pressed against his back.

Sam’s fear was gone. He was surrounded by werewolves, but he trusted them — even Bucky, who’d tried to kill him just a few days earlier. Steve let out a sigh of relief, and let Bucky’s contentment wash over him. It was true that in his wolf-mind, this pile of bodies made sense — even the closeness between Bucky and Sam felt right to Steve, nowhere near a threat. They liked each other, and Bucky needed people he trusted around him as much as Sam did. Being able to feel both of their bodies relax and drift off to sleep made Steve more calm and content than he’d been in weeks. Possibly months. Maybe years. It made falling asleep easy.

_Team. Pack. Family._

_Home._


	27. Chapter 27

Steve woke up deciding that this whole sharing a bed thing was a really good idea. It was so cozy when there was another body up against his. As his senses came alive he realized that the body was wearing clothes, and that the scents of both Bucky and Sam had mingled together in his nose.

And then he remembered last night. His eyes popped open just as he silently thanked God — or whoever — for the fact that he had remained in wolf form and wasn’t lying next to Sam naked. He raised his head to see if Bucky was still in his fur and whether Sam was awake, but all he saw was the back of Sam’s head and shoulder. Bucky was buried under the blankets, as was his apparent habit.

Then Sam moved, a little shift of weight that made the blankets shift. In the quiet bedroom, Steve could hear Sam’s breathing pick up. If he woke up from Steve’s small amount of movement, he really was still hypervigilant. Steve nosed Sam’s shoulder gently, hoping not to freak him out about waking with two huge wolves in his bed.

Steve heard the rustle of fur and felt the echo of Bucky’s pleasure at being petted, even though he was still asleep. Sam inched and wriggled, rolling over carefully so he didn’t crush either wolf, and blinked sleepily at Steve.

“Morning,” he said, getting a hand out from under the blanket to scratch behind Steve’s ears.

Not being able to talk to Sam or share his own thoughts and feelings, Steve found himself unsure of how to respond. But the touch felt so good. He growled in pleasure at Sam’s fingers digging into his fur, then pulled back enough to lick his hand in thanks.

“Yeah, okay. I could get used to this. I never really had time to take care of a dog — not since I joined the Air Force.” Sam grinned and shifted a little more so he could get both hands on Steve’s fur. Distantly, Steve felt Bucky stir, but Sam’s hands found just the right spot, and Steve’s eyes fell closed in bliss. Fur was warm but itchy.

God, brushing would probably feel _incredible_.

His tail wagged hard against the weight of the blanket with a rustling noise that didn’t quite drown out Bucky’s slurred, sleepy, “Hey. What about me?” A hand pushed between Steve’s fur and Sam’s T-shirt, petting both of them equally.

Steve’s eyes flew open, and he was almost hoping to see Bucky’s werewolf form looming over them, because the naked shoulder he saw just past Sam’s felt really inappropriate. He couldn’t help but send his displeasure out to Bucky as he whined, then let out a sharp bark.

Shock hit him, followed by a thick, dull emptiness, like a heavy fog. The bed creaked as Bucky pulled his hand back and rolled away, throwing the blanket aside. The retreat, both physical and mental, panicked Steve, and he slid free of the covers to hop over Sam and press himself against Bucky’s shoulder, licking his ear.

“Hey. What’s going on?” Sam asked, fighting free of the blankets so he could sit up.

Bucky shook his head, not pulling away from Steve, but not pressing close, either. “Sorry. I got confused,” he said dully, sounding more like JARVIS — an artificial voice — than a person.

_Shit._

Steve thought about cupping Bucky’s jaw and kissing his temple... And then he was in his skin and doing his best to comfort Bucky.

Bucky hadn’t used that phrase since he’d changed Steve, and Steve had thought they were past it. Apparently not. But that empty fog in Bucky’s head wasn’t confusion; it was the result of abusive conditioning. Steve shoved aside the anger he felt at himself for being sharp with Bucky and tried to pour all of his apologetic feelings into Bucky’s mind and heart. He should have handled that situation so very differently — first off, he should have deferred to Sam about what was okay in his own bed, and he really shouldn’t have unintentionally shamed Bucky.

He spared a moment in the midst of wrapping his arms around Bucky to say, “Sam, I...” But he had no idea how to apologize for being naked in another man’s bed.

Frowning in concern, Sam shook his head and put a hand on Bucky’s other shoulder. “What do you need, Bucky?”

Instead of answering, Bucky twisted around, pulling his legs back up onto the bed, and shifted into wolf form. At once, Steve felt the thick fog around his thoughts dissipate, as if it had nothing to grasp. Only a faint sense of unease — of something having gone wrong — lingered as he curled up on the blanket, muzzle tucked comfortably under his tail.

Sam looked from Bucky to Steve. Then he stood, asking, “You got this?”

“I... Yeah. I’m sorry. We’ll get out of your hair as soon as...” Steve had no idea how to fix this. He looked at Bucky, and his heart ached. His hands stole over Bucky’s coat as his apologetic gaze flicked back to Sam.

“It’s fine,” Sam said with a smile. “Take all the time you need. I’ll make us something for breakfast, too. He like bacon?” he asked with a nod towards Bucky.

Steve’s smile was both relieved and strained. He didn’t want to put Sam out, but he appreciated the care. “Yeah. A lot. Thanks, Sam. I owe you.”

“No trouble.” Sam headed out into the main part of the apartment and closed the bedroom door.

Already calmer, Bucky turned his head just enough to look up at Steve. The simplicity of the wolf had cleared his mind, and all Steve could pick up was pleasure at being touched and a deep sense of fatigue, even though Bucky had just woken up.

Envious of that clarity, Steve shifted into wolf form and nosed at Bucky, then flopped down almost on top of him and rested his chin on Bucky’s hip. But even with Bucky in wolf form, Steve could smell the lingering human traces of sweat from tension and anxiety — the physiological effect of Bucky’s ‘confusion’. He filled his mind with care and concern for Bucky, who inched closer so their bodies were curled together.

In wolf form, he had only the most tenuous grip on time’s passage, but it seemed only seconds had passed before Bucky’s head came up — just as Steve caught the faint scent of raw bacon. His stomach growled before the human part of him registered the _raw_ part. That human side was outweighed by the too-hungry-to-wait-for-cooking wolf that currently dominated his thoughts.

Bucky’s tail wagged, and Steve caught the sharp desire to hunt. It grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go. It felt necessary to hop off the bed, Bucky at his side, and go to the door. Together, they managed the doorknob and slipped silently out into the living room. Steve broke into a trot and circled around to one side of the kitchen island, knowing instinctively that Bucky would act as a diversion.

Sure enough, as soon as Sam heard the sound of Bucky’s metal paw on the tile floor, he turned, asking, “Hey, what’re you doing out here?”

Bucky whined, tail wagging, and Sam moved away from the stove. Steve was tall enough that he didn’t even have to get up on his hind legs to see the package of bacon on the counter next to the frying pan that was heating up.

One quick bite, and he pulled the package off the counter. Sam turned, but Steve was already bolting for the sanctuary of the bedroom, Bucky right on his tail. A kick closed the bedroom door, and Bucky pounced on the package of bacon, pinning it with his metal paw so he could tear through the plastic with his teeth. Impatience won out, and Steve snapped at the package — and also at Bucky’s muzzle — as the smell of meat took over the room.

Bucky growled, sharp and aggressive, and snapped back at Steve, who crouched low and let Bucky get on with tearing the meat into portions. As soon as the plastic was out of the way, Bucky pulled loose about half the strips of bacon and tossed them to Steve in one mass. It took all of three bites for Steve to swallow it all, and only the faint voice of humanity — a voice that was quietly horrified at what he was doing — kept him from trying to eat the plastic, too.

“Uh huh. You two happy with yourselves?” Sam’s voice intruded on Steve’s wolfy thoughts. He turned and saw Sam standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

Bucky let out a whine, high-pitched and pathetic — and utterly false, Steve knew, because Bucky was fighting to keep from wagging his tail. Playing at being sad and starving, Bucky inched towards Sam and licked at his hand.

“You really think I’m gonna fall for that?” Sam asked archly, though he was also grinning.

Steve crawled over to Sam’s feet and nosed his toes, then looked up at him, panting and grinning. Some part of Steve was contrite that they hadn’t saved any for Sam, but the rest of him was still rejoicing at the success of the hunt.

“Uh huh.” Sam took hold of each of them by the scruff and gave a little shake, pulling a whine out of them both. “Both of you, stay out of my kitchen while I’m cooking, or you don’t get breakfast.”

It was an empty threat. Steve could hear the hint of laughter in Sam’s voice. But he whined in apology anyway, even as he gloated to Bucky inside. Bucky’s answering whine had a little hitch — a wolfy laugh — but Sam was apparently too amused to call him on it.

After one last shake, Sam let them go. “And clean that up,” he said, pointing to the bacon wrapper. Then he ruffled their ears and headed back into the kitchen, leaving the bedroom door open.

Bucky’s jaw fell open, tongue lolling in a satisfied grin. He went right for the bed and hopped up, flopping casually onto his side.

Utterly smitten, Steve hopped up after Bucky and stood over his body, licking his neck fur until the urge to hold onto him was too strong to hang on to the wolf. He shifted into human form and buried his face in Bucky’s fur, huffing a hot, amused breath against his neck. “You’re a menace.”

Bucky twisted around and also shifted, laughing as he did. “I _like_ bacon,” he said slyly.

“We ate it raw, Bucky.”

“So? When’s the last time you saw a wolf build a cooking fire?”

“When was the last time I saw _you_ cook _anything?_ You’re a lazy slug, Buck.” Steve’s voice was nothing but warmth and amusement as he lowered himself onto Bucky’s body, letting his weight press Bucky into the bed, and nuzzled his neck.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s body. “I _don’t_ cook. You and Sam can cook.”

“And Sam’s a _good_ cook, so we have to leave him alone now to work in peace.” Steve nipped at Bucky’s collarbone and started to lay kisses all along it from his neck to his shoulder.

Bucky growled, low and content, and let his head fall back. “Thought you weren’t interested,” he murmured curiously.

“In what?” Steve was mildly distracted by the heat of Bucky’s skin on his lips, and the taste of it on his tongue.

Bucky’s metal hand slid up to cup the back of Steve’s head. “Sex.”

“Interested, yes. But not in Sam’s bed.” Steve nosed Bucky’s chin up and to the side to scrape his teeth on the corner of Bucky’s jaw and lick the pulse point right under it.

Bucky tensed and went still under him. “You don’t like Sam?”

Steve stopped what he was doing and answered with his lips right near Bucky’s ear. “I like Sam so much that I don’t want to disrespect him by fucking in his bed while he makes us breakfast.”

Anxiety flickered through the connection that they shared. “Then what are we doing?” Bucky asked carefully.

That was a fair question. Steve hadn’t realized how aggressive he was being physically, even as his mind wasn’t wanting to go that far. He pulled his head back enough to look into Bucky’s eyes. “Sorry. You feel really good, and I want you, but we really shouldn’t right now. I’ll stop.” He rolled off of Bucky onto his side.

Bucky let out an irritated huff. “Why shouldn’t we?”

“Because it’s rude, Buck.” Steve had just been worrying if the wolf had been taking him over a bit, but after Bucky’s question he started to wonder how far into wolf-mind Bucky was even in human form.

“But he wants us.”

That made Steve go still. “What?”

Bucky frowned. “You didn’t know?”

“No?” Steve had been too preoccupied with Bucky to really let himself consciously think about Sam that way. Sure, he knew Sam was “all of the above”, which had him wondering, and had caused random stabs of jealousy over Bucky, but he hadn’t actually thought anything close to what Bucky was saying.

The answer seemed to surprise Bucky. “You couldn’t smell it on him? I mean, yeah, not at first, but now, you should be able to.”

Trying to parse out Sam’s smell in his mind, Steve shook his head. “What does it smell like?”

Bucky shrugged. “Like he wants us,” he answered unhelpfully. “It’s easier to tell if you’re not trying to still be human.”

Steve huffed, mildly exasperated. “That’s a hard habit to break, Buck. And how do you know he doesn’t just want you?” He couldn’t keep the prick of jealousy at bay, but now it went both ways, and it embarrassed him to think Bucky could feel it.

“We’re pack,” Bucky said, frowning at him. “He can’t have me, if he doesn’t want you, too.”

Taken aback, Steve tried to wrap his head around that. Somewhere inside it made sense, but definitely not in his current state of mind. “But... that’s not how it works for humans, babe.”

“We’re not —”

“Human, I know. But he is.” Steve’s hand cupped Bucky’s jaw and turned his face for a gentle kiss.

Bucky relaxed under the kiss, moving one hand to rest on Steve’s hip. But when the kiss broke, Bucky quietly asked, “So? You like him, don’t you?”

Steve had a hard time getting enough breath to speak. “You’re asking if I want to have sex with him.”

Tension crept into Bucky again, so subtle that Steve might have missed it, before he’d been changed. “You don’t?” Bucky asked uncertainly.

“He’s my friend, Buck. I try not to think about that. Just like I’ve never really thought about wanting Nat.” Steve grinned, and poked Bucky’s chest, “And it took me almost ninety years to figure it out with you.”

Bucky shook his head, lips twitching up into a faint smile. “Do you want Nat, too?”

“I...” Steve actually stopped breathing while he thought about it. But even concentrating that hard, he couldn’t come up with a yes or no answer. “I enjoyed kissing her, and I think she’s amazing and beautiful, but especially now I wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way. She doesn’t even want me near her.”

“Oh.” Bucky sighed and glanced down at the bed, rubbing his hand in little circles over Steve’s hip. “Yeah, I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. She’s incredibly strong. I think she’ll be able to get over it, especially if she never sees my wolf.” Steve hoped so very hard that what he said was true. “She says she can handle you in any form.”

“I’ll stay away from her, until she likes you again.” Bucky shrugged, meeting Steve’s eyes again. “But Sam likes us in — Well, you haven’t taken your other form, but he was okay with me like that.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled at the memory of the two of them brushing Bucky’s werewolf body. It had felt good to share that with Sam, who had been entirely comfortable, despite how inherently terrifying that form was. Maybe Sam believed Bucky wouldn’t harm him _because_ of the attraction they had for one another?

_Shit._

It went both ways. Of course it did. “You want him, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded, frowning as if wondering why that was even a question. “Yeah. Don’t you?”

Propping up on one elbow, Steve needed to take a deep breath before saying, “I told you. I’ve never thought about it like that. I didn’t actually _know_ I wanted you until I asked to kiss you a couple days ago.”

“I’m not asking if you wanted him then. I’m asking if you want him now,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve took in breath to answer, but then couldn’t parse the combination of flutter and stillness in him. How much of that was Bucky and how much was him? “I dunno.” He smiled apologetically at Bucky. “I dunno.”

“Oh.” Bucky blinked a couple of times, then shrugged, glancing away. “Okay, then?”

There was an awkward pause before Steve thought to say, “What would have happened if I’d said ‘no’?”

Bucky frowned. “Nothing?”

“You wouldn’t... do anything with him?”

“You mean sex?”

“Yes, Buck.” Steve remembered just as he was getting frustrated that Bucky didn’t do well when things weren’t explicit. Steve chalked it up to his conditioning, though he also wondered if it wasn’t partially to do with the wolf inside him.

Frowning even more, Bucky tentatively said, “No?”

“Are you telling me the truth, or what you think I want to hear?” Steve rested his hand on Bucky’s sternum for comfort, and he could feel the rapid heartbeat underneath.

“I don’t know what you want.” Bucky’s exhale was sharp. Frustrated. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Steve moved over until he could look Bucky directly in the eyes. “I want you, Buck. That’s all I know. That’s all I’ve needed to know. Anything else is gravy.”

“But I’m not going anywhere. We’re pack, remember?” Bucky said with utter certainty.

“Yeah. That’s why I let you make me... your pack. I just didn’t know that meant anytime you wanted someone else, I’d also have to.” Steve hadn’t known it meant Bucky _would_ want anyone else, but he realized now that was naive. Wolf-mind didn’t acknowledge monogamy, clearly.

The frown returned, full of confusion. “You... don’t _have to_ ,” Bucky said hesitantly. “It’s just... Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because...” And that was when the penny dropped. If Bucky wanted someone and started doing anything with them, Steve was going to feel it. Not the sensations, but the emotional reactions in Bucky. When they had fucked last night before bed, it had been a bit of a headtrip, because Steve had been able to feel Bucky’s attraction to him — his arousal, his desire, his intent. It could very well be impossible for Bucky to be with someone and for Steve to, by virtue of their bond, keep himself from wanting them as well.

_Fuck._

That was a new wrinkle.

“I have no idea. Ignore me. Everything’s fine.” Steve kissed Bucky’s face three times, quickly, then got up out of bed.

Bucky followed, even now catching Steve off-guard with how fast he moved. “You’re sure?”

The question was so familiar from Bucky’s mouth, it felt like it came straight out of the past. There was something so very human about it — so full of care, so oddly reassuring — that it made Steve catch his breath. “Yeah, babe. I just need a minute. Be right back.”

He kissed Bucky’s cheek, then turned and dropped down to land in wolf form, not wanting to go out into the rest of the apartment naked. Only then did he realize that he could smell food — more bacon, eggs, crispy fried potatoes — but Sam hadn’t interrupted to call them to breakfast.

He found Sam sitting at the breakfast bar, a cup of coffee in his hands, reading a tablet. “You two ready for breakfast?” he asked, looking Steve over a bit worriedly.

Steve whined as he passed Sam and headed to the couch, looking for the sweats he’d worn over last night. When he found them on the floor, he picked them up in his mouth, careful not to poke holes in them with his fangs, and trotted back into the bedroom. The modesty he showed at needing relative privacy for this change was probably overdone, but especially after the conversation with Bucky, being naked around Sam felt awkward.

When he got in the room he saw Bucky had changed into his wolf as well. Steve shifted into human to kiss the soft fur of his neck, then pulled on his sweats and said, “Breakfast?” In answer, Bucky wagged his tail and jumped down off the bed. He trotted out behind Steve into the kitchen and went right to Sam, who was sliding scrambled eggs and fried potatoes onto three plates. Bucky got up on his hind legs, one forepaw resting on the counter, and leaned towards one of the plates, only to have Sam pull it away.

“You wait your turn,” he scolded, poking Bucky’s muzzle with one finger. “You want a fork, or should I just put it on the floor?”

Bucky let out a deep, dramatic exhale and collapsed onto the floor as if his strings had been cut.

Sam didn’t quite roll his eyes. “Did you teach him that?” he asked Steve.

“Seriously? You should have known him before the war. He was such a diva.” Steve’s smirk crept from one corner of his mouth over his whole face.

“It must be love, for you to put up with that,” Sam teased, leaning down to slide the plate under Bucky’s muzzle. Bucky had the courtesy to give Sam a wolfy grin before he eagerly tore into the food. Sam laughed and picked up the two remaining plates. “How about you? You want a fork?” he asked, offering Steve one of the plates.

“Yeah.” Steve didn’t want to be rude and leave Sam with no one to talk to over breakfast, but he wondered if the simplicity of the wolf-mind would keep him from feeling nervous and confused about where the three of them stood. “Sorry about earlier.” Steve realized he meant both the misunderstanding when they woke and the bacon snatching. Ashamed at having been nothing but trouble for Sam all morning, he added, “About all of it, really.”

Sam opened a drawer, then took out forks and knives. “Don’t worry about it. Hell, I...” He shook his head and glanced away as though embarrassed. “I appreciate the company. I really needed the sleep.”

Sighing and smiling warmly as he took his silverware from Sam, Steve said, “I’m glad we could help. Even if we didn’t leave you much room in the bed...”

“Unlike _some_ people here” — Sam leaned over to look at Bucky, then settled down at the island next to Steve — “I’m happy to share blankets.”

Though Bucky was out of Steve’s line-of-sight, Steve heard his deep sigh as clearly as he felt his affection for Sam. It was a reminder of how good they were for each other, and Steve realized he wanted the two of them to get to know each other better. The sticking point was whether he was okay with them being intimate — and what that meant for him personally in the midst of it.

He tried not to let his thoughts show on his face when he said, “ _Some_ people like to make nests. I can’t say it’s all bad, honestly. Though it’s easier to handle when you’re also a wolf, I guess.”

“What is? Nesting?”

“Yeah, and sleeping with a werewolf in general.”

Sam glanced at Steve. “You enjoying it?” he asked, a hint of worry coming into his voice.

“Of course. It’s Bucky.” Steve shrugged his shoulders as he took a bite of eggs.

“Yeah, but it’s also you. Just a couple days ago, you two were worried about him biting you.”

“Sure, but then he did, so there’s nothing to worry about anymore.” Steve set down his fork to look at Sam and said, “He’s been my closest friend since we were kids. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, and vice versa.” He knew his loyalty was spreading to Bucky’s consciousness, just as Bucky’s was filtering back to him.

Sam grinned. “That mean he’s gonna get off his lazy ass and help me brush you, or am I stuck with two werewolves and no assistants?”

Steve raised one eyebrow and smirked at Sam, then turned to look over at Bucky, who was licking his clean plate. “What d’you say, Buck? Not that you need one, but want an excuse to get your hands on me?”

Bucky pushed up to all fours, then shifted into his skin — naked and unashamed. He picked up his plate and set it down on the counter, saying, “In our apartment, not here. JARVIS said they’re gonna replace the carpet anyway, so it’s okay if it smells like wet wolf.”

Only because he was almost positive Tony had done much worse to certain parts of the tower was Steve able to push aside the wave of guilt that crested at the thought of replacing carpet. He focused on the rest of Bucky’s statement instead. “Wet?”

“You need a shower to loosen up your fur, before we brush you.” Bucky went over to the coffee pot and looked at it critically. Remembering his own first experiences with modern technology, Steve stood up, ready to help, but Bucky took out the carafe as if he knew what he was doing. “Or you could just go play in a river, then rub up against trees and bushes. That’ll work, too.”

“This may be Manhattan, but even here, someone would notice, considering how big you two are,” Sam said.

“Yeah, no. Brushing. It’s my turn, after yesterday.” Steve stepped up behind Bucky as he poured himself coffee and slipped his hands around Bucky’s hips. “I’ll only make you do it once.”

“We’re pack,” Bucky said, leaning back to kiss Steve’s jaw. “It’s something we do for each other.”

Steve nuzzled the crook of Bucky’s neck, full of gratitude, then pulled away with an apologetic grin for Sam, not wanting him to feel awkward. “Thanks. But let me finish my breakfast first.”

Bucky brought his coffee to the island opposite where Sam was sitting. “Coffee’s okay as a wolf, but it’s better as a human.”

“So it’s different,” Sam mused, glancing at Steve. “You prefer cooked bacon in human form, I take it?”

Neck flushing at the memory of the bacon incident, Steve responded, “Right now, I can’t believe I ate it raw. At the moment, it was so delicious I didn’t care. So, yeah. Things feel different in each form.” He looked to Bucky for confirmation as he scooped up some potatoes on his fork.

Bucky nodded, sipping his coffee. “I guess we also eat more, in any form. I don’t remember if the others were like that or if it’s just because of what they did to you and me in the war,” he added to Steve.

Swallowing quickly to answer, Steve said, “My metabolism is — was, even before you changed me — ridiculously fast.” He turned to Sam. “That’s why I can’t get drunk. Can you, babe?” The moment he asked, he wondered if Bucky had been given any chance to find out, and he wasn’t entirely surprised by Bucky’s frown.

“No idea. But when did you have a chance to even try?” Bucky asked, puzzled. “The war’s been going on for, what, seventy years, in one form or another?”

_Shit._

That sounded like another HYDRA mindfuck. Steve looked meaningfully at Sam, then back at Bucky to think of how to answer him truthfully without contradicting his conditioning. “When I thought you’d died, I drank a whole bottle of whisky by myself. It didn’t do anything.”

Sam put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. “But you’ve got him back now,” he said unnecessarily. Steve could feel Bucky’s presence — and his concern — with every breath.

He smiled softly at Bucky and reached out to take his hand. “Yeah. And he knows what losing him again would do to me, so I'm pretty sure I've got him for life.”


	28. Chapter 28

The gym was designed for the benefit of all the Avengers. That much was obvious. Conventional weights, treadmills, and ellipticals only took up one corner of the space. There were two boxing rings, heavy bags, and punching bags, along with more complicated, padded structures for practicing martial arts. Modified gymnastics equipment took up another corner. The only thing missing was a setup for target practice, or so Steve thought, until JARVIS explained that there was a firing range one level below.

Bucky headed right for the weight training area, where Steve had found him yesterday. This time, he was in human form, dressed in Stark Industries sweats. Instead of going for the boxing area, Steve followed, asking, “Why the weights? Do you lose muscle mass if you don’t work out?” Maybe Zola’s serum hadn’t been as effective as Dr. Erskine’s. After all, Bucky hadn’t come out of Zola’s lab with the same increased muscle mass.

Bucky shrugged and started setting up the machine. “Don’t think so. I just get restless if I can’t do _something_ physical, and I hate running on a treadmill.”

Steve wondered what it would feel like to run on a treadmill in his wolf form, then realized he’d probably tear it up with his claws. Maybe if there was a track... “What about sparring?”

Even in human form, Bucky’s grin had a decidedly wolfish edge to it. “Not allowed. I shift without thinking, Steve. Who’s gonna want to spar with that sort of risk?”

“A werewolf.”

Bucky gave Steve an amused smile. “You mean, you?”

“Do you know any other werewolves hanging around? Come on. Worried I’ll beat your ass?” Steve knew his grin had gone feral, but he suspected the wolf inside him had pricked up its ears, and he figured he should run with it.

Bucky abandoned the machine and walked to the open mats, surrounded by racks of free weights. The wall behind the weights was mirrored, allowing Steve to see Bucky’s matching feral grin. “You can try,” Bucky said, absently dragging a hand over the rack.

Steve drew breath to answer, then felt a surge of warning. Bucky moved, too fast for Steve to consciously note, but _something_ inside him allowed him to see the next instant, and he threw up a hand just as a ten-pound dumbbell came flying at him. His fingers closed around it, catching the bar at the perfect angle to keep from even bruising his palm — and then he caught the second one in his other hand, again without even consciously registering that Bucky had thrown it.

 _Pack,_ Steve thought, looking at the weights in his hands. They couldn’t fight one another — or they couldn’t catch one another by surprise — but working in concert against an enemy, they’d be unstoppable. No need to coordinate through comms or hand signals. No need for endless hours of practice to develop familiarity and intuition that would never be absolutely certain.

He threw the weights back to Bucky without bothering to call a warning, and Bucky caught them perfectly. “See? I’m not sure we _could_ fight,” he said as he racked the weights.

“Well, it might be more like dancing together than fighting...” Steve had a feeling he’d heard of a martial art that was half-dancing, half-sparring, but he also knew that doing anything physically active with Bucky, in any form, would be fun. “Speaking of... How do I get to werewolf form?”

Bucky walked over to Steve, looking him up and down. “Take off your shoes, first, unless you want to ruin them. Everything else, too,” he added, a hint of interest creeping into his thoughts and voice.

Steve’s smirk was cynical, though his body reacted to the interest anyway. “I’m not getting naked for _you._ ” He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt off but stopped there. “Focus, pup.”

“It’s your tail,” Bucky said, voice dropping to a growl as he lunged for Steve, clothes tearing — including his sneakers — from his shift.

Even with pack-forewarning, Steve couldn’t dive out of the way. He rolled with the tackle instead, braced a foot on the mat, and then pushed, flipping Bucky onto his back. Steve twisted with him, trying to find whatever it was that would allow him to shift, but every time he thought about fur, his mind filled with the image of his wolf form.

Bucky’s jaw fell open in a grin. A flicker of interest gave Steve a heartbeat’s warning before Bucky’s fur disappeared into skin that was no longer covered by tattered clothes. “Or we could skip the sparring altogether,” he said, running his hands down Steve’s back, fingers sliding under his waistband.

Giving an amused huff at Bucky’s distraction — and the hands on his ass — Steve said, “Teach me how to shift, and I’ll let you.” It didn’t matter what Bucky wanted to do instead of spar; Steve would let him.

“I dunno. That should’ve worked,” Bucky said, lifting his head enough to kiss Steve’s jaw.

Steve frowned, but then his grin started at one corner of his mouth and spread sideways. “All I feel is how much you want me. There’s no threat. If that’s what you were aiming for, you missed.”

Bucky shrugged. “We could get someone else to attack you, but you’d probably kill them. There any enemies here?”

“Of course not. But you don’t need someone to attack you to get into hybrid form. You have to know how to get there without outside cues.” Steve raised up on his hands and knees to not be distracted by Bucky’s body while they talked. Or maybe to not be distracted by Bucky’s distraction with _his_ body. It was hard to tell.

“Well, yeah. But I don’t even remember my first few shifts. Hell, I barely remember the old pack at all.” Bucky shrugged and held up his metal hand. “And there’s this.”

“What about this?” Steve ran his hand up the smooth metal and wrapped his fingers lightly around Bucky’s wrist. He had no idea how Bucky’s arm shifted along with him, and he hadn’t felt curiosity about it until now.

“I didn’t have it, with the pack. Not until we were called in by the SSR. So I guess it was incentive, learning to shift, to protect myself.”

“From the pack? Or from outside forces?” Steve felt a protective surge at the idea of Bucky being attacked by anyone and not having him to help with defense.

“From other packs.” Bucky shrugged. “And HYDRA. They were all over our territory, trying to trap us.”

Steve’s heart cracked at the idea that Bucky fought hard to stay out of HYDRA’s clutches, only to be trapped in their vise grip for seventy years. Except he hadn’t ever sounded like he felt trapped. Which scared the pants off of Steve. “How is it you ended up with SSR, then?”

“We ended up crossing over into Russia. The local SSR gave us sanctuary there.” Bucky frowned, and Steve felt a haze come between them — the same fog that had hit Bucky earlier that morning. “I think I remember asking about you, but they said you’d died.”

Letting go of Bucky’s wrist to touch his face, Steve said, “We don’t have to talk about this if it’s upsetting, love.”

Bucky shook his head, then kissed Steve’s hand. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. Besides... once I thought you were gone, and once I got this” — he lifted his metal hand, flexing his fingers — “I figured the only thing I could do was pick up where you left off.”

Painfully aware that what Bucky had done for so long was the opposite of what Steve had been trying to accomplish during the war, Steve couldn’t speak. He just lowered himself onto Bucky’s body and hugged him tightly, hoping his throat would let him breathe at some point.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, radiating worry.

“Nothing. Thank you for wanting to take up the fight. I love you so much for that.” Steve just barely got his words out, but his lips were right near Bucky’s ear. “Don’t ever forget that, no matter what happens.”

Bucky snorted and nipped at Steve’s jaw. “Pack, remember? Nobody’s taking you away from me, ever again.”

“Thank God.” Steve breathed against Bucky’s neck. He cupped Bucky’s face and kissed him fervently, over and over.

With another quiet growl, Bucky wrapped one leg around Steve’s and pushed up against his body. He slid a hand up Steve’s back to catch at his hair, tugging on short strands before strong fingers curved around his nape. The contentment and pleasure radiating from Bucky’s mind caught fire with new interest, like a voice whispering _more, more, more_ in the back of Steve’s head.

_Yes._

Steve pulled away from Bucky’s mouth just enough to say, “JARVIS? Lock the door please, and if there’s a way to make the glass go dark...?”

“Doors locked, Captain,” JARVIS said over a metallic _click_ , “but I cannot change the transparency of the glass.”

Shifting against Bucky’s hips made Steve’s breath hitch, and his next words came out as a growl, “Turn off the lights, then. Please.”

As the lights dimmed, JARVIS asked, “Captain, may I make an inquiry?”

_Shit._

A heavy sigh escaped him before Steve answered. “Yes?” He didn’t want to think or talk or focus on anything but Bucky’s body slotting with his, and the best way to get as close as humanly possible. “What is it?”

“My security protocols are to inform Mr. Stark of any abnormal behavior for all Tower guests, Captain. Is this —”

Bucky snorted out a laugh, then turned his head so he could say, “Werewolves do this. All the time. Right, Steve?”

“These werewolves do. No need to report, JARVIS. And if there are security cameras in here, could you please turn them off for a while?”

“Security protocols require constant monitoring of Sergeant Barnes, Captain.”

“In case I bit Steve,” Bucky said, a hint of irritation coming into his voice. “I already did that.”

“We are definitely secure, JARVIS. Take a coffee break. Give us a bit of privacy.” Steve rubbed his nose against Bucky’s neck, trying to erase his irritation so it didn’t spread. He wanted — he _needed_ — a deep connection with Bucky right now. A computer wasn’t going to derail them if he could help it.

“Shall I request a security override from Mr. Stark, Captain?”

“Jesus, no. Never mind.” Steve’s irritation broke into humor at the absurdity of the situation and he started to laugh, his forehead pressed to Bucky’s collarbone. “I’m going to fuck my boyfriend now, JARVIS. Please don’t bother us or let anyone else bother us. All right?”

“Very good, Captain.”

“Fantastic. Thank you.” Steve looked down into Bucky’s amused face and murmured, “Now, where were we?”

 

~~~

 

Werewolves, Steve reflected, occasionally had the _worst_ timing.

“Are you _sure?_ ” Bucky asked, trembling with the effort to keep from thrusting into Steve’s body. “This can’t be comfortable for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve’s thighs were tucked so close against his chest that he could probably kiss his own knees, and his feet were hanging over Bucky’s shoulders, but the only thing that was uncomfortable was the lack of Bucky’s cock inside him. He was aching for it. Even more painful than that was the need to look into Bucky’s face as they fucked. It had taken Steve longer than he thought reasonable to convince Bucky they didn’t _have_ to do it doggie-style, and for him to back out now would be a legitimate problem. Steve needed this so very badly. “I’m fucking sure. _Please,_ Buck.”

“Would you rather do this to me?” Bucky’s voice — and the current of feeling inside him — was a mixture of apprehension and lust, and the only thing Steve could think to do with his brain so addled by it was to push his own desire at Bucky so all he’d feel was _please, please, please, I need you._

“God, no. Do it now, babe.”

With a growl of effort, Bucky pushed another inch deeper, eyes closing in concentration. “Steve. Steve,” he whispered over the popping sound of his claws digging into the floor mats by Steve’s shoulders.

“Yeah. Fuck. Bucky...” Steve’s breath was shallow, and his voice was thin, and the fullness took his whole focus. His hands gripped Bucky’s biceps hard, and the flood of sensation as nerve endings sparked inside had him trying not to whine and failing.

Bucky kept whispering Steve’s name until he was all the way inside, hips pressed against Steve’s ass. Then, with apparent effort, he blinked open his eyes and stared down at Steve in wonder. With another popping sound, he pulled one hand free of the mat and clenched it into a fist. When he opened it, his fingers were fully human again, and he motioned uncertainly towards Steve’s cock, asking, “Can I...?”

_Jesus._

Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to withstand so much stimulation at once, but he was definitely willing to try. He _was_ a super-soldier, after all. “Oh, God. Yes.” He didn’t have breath enough for anything else even though he wanted to warn Bucky that he might not last long like that.

Cautiously, Bucky curled his fingers just enough to stroke lightly up and down. He growled almost as loudly as Steve, shuddering under the pleasure that they both felt. This had happened yesterday, too, turning their lovemaking into a haze of sensation that Steve still couldn’t remember in any detail. Because at some point there was no way to parse out whose pleasure was whose anymore. It was simply _theirs._ And it was glorious. There was nothing in Steve’s head but ‘ _yes’_ as the need to physically manifest their deep connection was sated.

“More.” He didn’t know if he said it or whispered it or just thought it loudly — not that it mattered. Bucky stroked again, rocking his hips, searching until he found that one spot inside Steve’s body, and then it was too much. Bucky’s cock, his hand, his mind. All of it overwhelmed both of them, and Steve had no idea which of them came first.

Watching Bucky’s face right after took Steve’s breath away. The satisfaction and love he felt coming from Bucky was plain, as was a fuzziness around the eyes that, together with the curve of his mouth, had Steve thinking about when they’d both been young, cocky assholes who were still so surprised when they’d gotten something they wanted.

Steve relaxed, lowering his legs, and Bucky arched his back, withdrawing from Steve’s body with a little sound of protest. Wanting to keep Bucky close — not just mentally but physically as well — Steve tugged on Bucky’s metal shoulder. “C’mere,” he murmured, lifting his head to meet Bucky in a slow, sweet kiss.

When it ended, Steve’s hand trailed up to Bucky’s neck and held him in place, their foreheads pressed together. “Told you it’d work.” A self-satisfied smile stole across his face as he tried to focus on Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky laughed and ducked to kiss Steve again. “I still want to know if it’s the serum or if that’s how it’s really supposed to go.”

Rolling his eyes in amusement and fondness, Steve said, “Just don’t ask Tony. Maybe Sam...” He trailed off because the idea of talking to Sam about their intimacy seemed like a bad one, though he couldn’t figure out exactly why — whether it was simply awkwardness or possessiveness or something else that made him pause.

“Unless I missed something, I’m pretty sure talking to Stark about fucking his father is a bad idea,” Bucky said, and though his grin was amused, Steve could feel the sadness deep in his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to...” Steve kissed the corner of Bucky’s eye, then over to his ear. He did everything he could not to feel a stab of jealousy over Howard, and thankfully it was much fainter than ever before. And he suspected if he’d been in wolf-form, he might not have felt it at all.

Bucky shrugged casually, despite some tension lingering inside him. “We can look it up. Do they monitor your internet access?”

“Why does it matter?” Steve was talking about the information, not the internet, but Bucky apparently misunderstood.

“Network security,” he said, rolling off Steve to cuddle against his side. He absently reached back to where he’d abandoned his ruined clothes, then picked up a handful of rags to clean up the mess on Steve’s chest. “A connection can be used both ways. It’s not _that_ important to go looking up, I guess. I mean, it works. That’s what matters.”

“Right. It works beautifully. If it ain’t broke...” Steve touched Bucky’s chin to make him look up and took a deep breath. “But Sam would probably know.”

Bucky frowned, puzzled. “He’s handling your network security? I thought he was a combat medic.”

Steve blinked, then smirked. “No, love. He’d know about sex between two men.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Let’s ask him, then,” Bucky said, laughing.

“I’ll leave that to you, Buck.” Steve turned to kiss Bucky’s forehead and held his breath until he was sure he didn’t feel upset by that thought.

“You sure?” Bucky asked, dropping the rags so he could flatten his hand against Steve’s chest, over his heart. “What’s wrong?”

Sometimes it was really hard not having private emotions. “Nothing. Honestly.” Luckily, that was a lot closer to true than it used to be.

Something flickered deep in Bucky’s thoughts, a little spike of tension and anxiety that remained perfectly hidden from his expression. “Later,” he said dismissively, leaning in to kiss Steve again. “Think we can go out for lunch?”

The question caught Steve off guard. “I have no idea. I guess we could ask. JARVIS?”

As soon as the computer’s name slipped out, a spike of anxiety hit Bucky. He propped up on one elbow, his casual posture at odds with how alert he’d gone, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

Either unaware or unconcerned, JARVIS responded, “Yes, Captain?”

“Never mind. Ignore me.” Steve looked closely at Bucky, projecting his care and concern. “What is it, babe?”

Bucky shrugged, taking hold of Steve’s hand and standing, pulling Steve up with him. “Pizza. _Fresh_ pizza, not put in a box and delivered. What do you say?”

Frowning, Steve stepped close and rested his free hand on Bucky’s hip, “I don’t know if it’s safe for us to go out. And we’ve had pizza three times in as many days. What _is_ it?”

“I _like_ pizza.” Bucky pulled Steve into his arms and whispered, “Please? Just us?”

The covert plea pricked up Steve’s soldier instinct, and he nodded. “Of course.” Steve was sure Bucky knew he’d do anything he was asked, but he sent all his willingness through their connection just to underscore that knowledge. “Dino’s? You seem to like their pizza, and I don’t think they’re far from here.”

Bucky relaxed and shrugged, leaning back to give Steve a grin. “We’ll find somewhere. And we can stop to pick up clothes, too.”

The grin was contagious, and Steve squeezed Bucky’s hip before letting it go. He tugged on Bucky’s hand to get him moving toward the door to the locker room. Bucky didn’t care about walking around naked, but Steve did, and he’d left his sweatpants in there when they’d gone to find the lubricant. Besides, they both needed to shower.

“What, you don’t like having Stark’s name all across your body?” Steve asked.

“If we’re going on our first real date, I’m gonna look the part.”


	29. Chapter 29

Early summer in New York City was too hot for long sleeves, but Steve knew that Bucky had no choice. At least in sweats, sneakers, and ballcaps, they looked like they were out for a run — a simple disguise. Still, he couldn’t help but feel nervous as he and Bucky left the Tower through a private back exit into an alley. One glimpse of Bucky’s metal arm would draw all sorts of attention, and Steve’s own face had been all over the news in recent days.

But Bucky had insisted on going out, despite the potential danger, and if it was that important to him, Steve couldn’t say no. He’d just have to pay attention to everything — the crowd and Bucky himself. The last thing he needed was Bucky having a moment of ‘confusion’ and attacking innocents in a panic.

“Clothes first,” Bucky said as they reached the sidewalk. He didn’t stop to look around; he just turned left and started walking. “Maybe a haircut, at least for me.”

For an absurd moment, Steve was against the idea of Bucky cutting his hair, but then, remembering how it used to be styled swept back with brylcreem, a current of desire ran through him. He smirked slightly when he looked over at Bucky and nodded. “Whatever you want, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a quick smirk before he turned his attention to the crowd around them. “How much money do we have?”

Steve found his nerves wracked by being out in the open around so many people. It felt like being in that shopping mall with Nat that one time. Or was that... less than a week ago? Shaking his head, Steve reached into his pocket to touch the wad of cash Tony had handed him during their first post-wrecking-the-capital debriefing, along with a credit card that already had Steve’s name on it, as if Tony had been planning this for some time. Maybe he had. He’d never entirely trusted S.H.I.E.L.D., after all.

“I’ve got around five thousand, and I thought he said that’s about the limit on the credit card.”

“Good.” Bucky glanced at him — no, _past_ him, Steve realized, following his gaze to a camera pointed at an intersection. Without breaking step, Bucky turned at the corner and walked away from the camera. “Let me hold the card? In case we get separated and all. I don’t want to get stuck without cab fare.”

A hitch in Steve’s step was the only show of apprehension he allowed. “I thought you were never going to let me out of your sight again?” He found another smirk to cover his nervousness. It wasn’t distrust — he would never suspect Bucky of purposely trying to lose him — it was something else. Something, he realized, that was coming only from him, _not_ Bucky, who was radiating a calm that helped Steve to breathe. “Anyway, I can’t. It’s got my name on it. But take half the cash...” He reached into his pocket to pull out the folded bills and hand a bunch of them over, but Bucky caught his arm.

“That’s okay,” he said soothingly. “You want something other than pizza? We can get anything in New York City, y’know.”

“Oh...” Steve couldn’t help the imploring smile that spread over his face, though he did blink a couple of times for effect. “Can we please find a Jewish deli? I’ve been in D.C. too long. I’d do just about anything for a good reuben.”

Bucky grinned and nudged Steve with his elbow — carefully, since it was the metal one. “Sure thing. Anything you want, Steve.”

 

~~~

 

The haircut came first, at a narrow barbershop that looked like it had been plucked out of Brooklyn in the 1920s, right down to the scratchy music playing on the console radio near the front. To Steve’s surprise, Bucky asked for a shave as well, and though Steve tried not to hover, he kept throwing nervous glances the whole time the straight razor was against Bucky’s skin. In contrast, Bucky didn’t even flinch, and soon his calm, relaxed demeanor eased Steve’s anxiety enough to let him sit down and read one of the newspapers up front.

The public was fickle. Already, the S.H.I.E.L.D.-HYDRA conspiracy had been pushed down to the third page, where the only story was about the Senate’s decision to put together a committee. A committee meant a hearing, and a hearing meant Steve might well be called to account for his actions.

Worse, _Bucky_. Did brainwashing count towards a ‘not guilty’ plea when it came to assassination and international terrorism? What if they wanted to make Bucky their scapegoat? Or, worse, what if they wanted to interrogate him? He had a wealth of intel locked in his head, whether he consciously knew it or not.

Again, it was Bucky who soothed him, without even a look or a touch. Just his presence, rock-steady and calm and _there_ , as if to remind Steve that nothing could ever tear them apart, despite Bucky’s ridiculous notion about wanting the credit card in case they were separated.

And when Bucky got up from the barber’s chair, he looked like _himself_ , hair cut neatly back to show off his bright blue eyes, newly bare skin showing off his square jaw and kissable mouth. Unable to look away, Steve handed the barber a few bills. He had no idea how much of a tip he’d included, but it wasn’t enough — not for giving Steve back this image of Bucky, right out of his youth.

 _Uncomfortable public displays of affection be damned,_ he thought, remembering how tensely he’d kissed Natasha — or, more precisely, been kissed by her. He put a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and pulled him in for a short, heartfelt kiss before realizing _Bucky_ might not want it, especially not kissing another man in public. But that was ridiculous. He could _feel_ Bucky’s delight in the enthusiastic response, and they were both grinning by the time the kiss ended.

“Clothes next,” Bucky said, nudging Steve towards the door. “I’m sick of being a walking billboard for Stark Industries.”

Reaching to pull Bucky’s arm through the crook of his elbow as they left the shop, Steve grinned and said, “Yes, sergeant. Where to?”

“Thrift store or something. I don’t feel like high fashion.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s arm but slid his hand free after just a few steps.

_Right._

They were supposed to keep a low profile. And as it was, they were wearing matching outfits; no need to attract more attention. Steve shrugged and slipped his hands in his pockets, unoffended because Bucky’s affection never wavered. “I don’t understand what high fashion even is. But then again, Nat picked out my clothes the last time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky said confidently. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

~~~

 

A secondhand shop provided T-shirts and jeans. Bucky found a denim jacket to cover his metal arm, and he kept his left hand hidden in his pocket as they went into a pharmacy that sold everything, right down to packages of socks and underwear. When Bucky herded Steve into the pharmacy bathroom to change, Steve didn’t comment, but he drew the line at the shoe store.

“What’s wrong with these?” he asked, gesturing down at his sneakers. Sure, they were black and white, emblazoned with the Stark Industries logo, but they were just sneakers.

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky said, unfairly turning the puppy dog eyes on him.

Steve closed his eyes, trying to block out the sheer tidal wave of adorable, but it just came through their connection in the sweetest pleading Steve had ever experienced. “Jesus. Fine. I don’t understand, but of course.” He didn’t have to say ‘ _I can’t say no to you’_ , because Bucky already knew it.

So they went into the shop and bought new sneakers and ballcaps that Bucky insisted on wearing out, adding their old sneakers and hats to the shopping bag of Stark Industries clothes. Once they were outside, Bucky started walking briskly, trusting that Steve would stay beside him — a far easier task for two werewolves than any other pedestrians on the crowded street. And when Bucky unexpectedly turned down an alley, Steve followed without having to think about it, but he wondered exactly what he was missing.

“What are —” was as far as he got before Bucky pushed him up against the wall beside a Dumpster, silencing him with a kiss. He felt Bucky’s hand tug the shopping bag free, then heard the hollow _thump_ as it landed with the rest of the trash. Now that his hand was empty, it stole to Bucky’s hip, sliding under the jacket and T-shirt to seek the warmth of Bucky’s skin.

Steve leaned back against the wall and pulled Bucky’s hips to his, reveling in the smoothness of Bucky’s face against his as they kissed. His joy at seeing _his_ Bucky, out in the world and functional — possibly more so than Steve was at the moment — flowed from him, along with the feral interest he couldn’t keep at bay when they were this physically close.

Even when Bucky’s hand slid into Steve’s front pocket, where he carried the billfold Tony had given him, Steve didn’t blink. Bucky’s absolute confidence — his determination to take care of Steve, to stay beside him and protect him — was so strong Steve couldn’t find it in him to distrust whatever Bucky might do.

The _crack_ of shattering plastic made him pull back, feeling just a bit dazed. He looked down just as Bucky threw the shards of Tony’s unused credit card into the bin with a surge of triumph. When their eyes met, Bucky tipped his head, then caught Steve’s sleeve and started moving, almost running down the alley.

_Cash. All new clothes. No credit card._

They were running.


	30. Chapter 30

“You’d think the subway would be cleaner, but it’s just a new kind of filthy,” Bucky muttered as the train lurched away from the station. The crowd was thin enough that they found two uncomfortable plastic seats under the window and were able to sit together.

Steve casually put his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and leaned in as if to kiss his cheek, whispering, “Why, Buck?” He knew that Bucky must have felt his confusion and worry as he’d moved in perfect synchronicity with Bucky to the subway, because of course he had. There had been no room for questions then, and Steve had already guessed the answers to half of them from Bucky’s actions. So now this was the only question he could come up with: _Why_ were they running away?

Bucky’s sigh was relieved, and he leaned against Steve, saying, “I can protect you. You don’t need to stay with HYDRA anymore. We can disappear, together.”

Remembering seconds later to close his mouth so it didn’t gape open, Steve pressed his lips to the newly shorn hair at Bucky’s temple and breathed deeply. It smelled of shampoo, shaving cream, and aftershave, and underneath that, home. “Baby, I’m not with HYDRA. We were already safe — the safest we could be, all things considered.”

“That’s what they told you,” Bucky protested, radiating worry. “I know it wasn’t your fault. Everything you did for them... You thought you were doing the right thing. But you weren’t.”

“Buck...” Steve felt his own worry get caught up in a feedback loop with Bucky’s, and it made his chest tighten and ache. “Honey, listen. The folks I worked with saved New York from an alien invasion. I’m pretty sure we were doing the right thing.” He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder to ground himself in their connection, given how dissonant everything felt at the moment.

“Even the bad guys can do good things by accident. Somewhere inside, though, I _know_ you feel like something’s off with them, ’cause I feel it, too.” He lowered his voice even more and leaned in to kiss Steve’s ear. “You’re a werewolf now, Steve. Trust your gut.”

“Bucky, you know me. You know I’ve never done anything else. And my gut tells me that my teammates are the real thing.” Steve reached to touch Bucky’s smooth chin and turned him so they were looking in each other’s eyes. “ _You_ _know_ Sam and Nat and Tony. You knowthey’re good people. Something is off, but it’s not them, love. Believe me.” He knew Bucky could feel his absolute conviction that what he said was true. Steve just had to trust that it would be convincing enough.

Bucky shook his head, frowning. “But you didn’t want to talk to Sam. I can smell how conflicted you are about him. That’s your gut fighting what you’ve been told. You need to _listen_ to it.”

_Shit._

A combination of relief and embarrassment flooded through Steve, to the point of flushing his cheeks. “No. No, that’s me being an idiot, not Sam being untrustworthy.” He looked down and took Bucky’s hand in his. “I’m having a hard time with the idea of sharing him with you. In bed. Or whatever it is you want. That has nothing to do with anything else. I would risk my life for him in a heartbeat.”

“But... you didn’t... You _are_ HYDRA,” Bucky insisted in a harsh whisper. “You don’t know it, but you are. They’re everywhere, Steve. That’s why it’s taken so long for us to fight them.”

What hurt was that Bucky was so very close to not being wrong at all. “That last bit is true. I heard from Zola myself about how HYDRA has been able to infiltrate everything in the past century, almost, and influence events to its own ends. But I wasn’t a part of that. Neither was my team. Darling...” Steve took his arm from around Bucky’s shoulders to cup his cheeks in both hands. “That’s what they used _you_ for.”

“Psyops, Steve. They do it to individuals as well as whole countries. They’ve got you confused, but you just need to get away from them for a while, and it’ll all clear up. I promise,” Bucky said earnestly.

“Buck, I’m _not_ confused. I’m hurt and angry at what happened, but not for me. For you. Think about what you’re saying. Your logic is sound, but it’s not me you should be applying it to.” Steve hated himself for the next thing he had to say, because it felt like a HYDRA tactic, but it was the only thing left in his arsenal. “HYDRA has made _you_ very confused. Over and over. You keep telling me that, because _you know it’s true._ ”

“I...” Bucky frowned, and Steve could feel that thick, dull fog threatening to descend. “No, Steve. I’ve been _fighting_ them all this time.”

“You’ve been fighting us, but we aren’t the bad guys. That was Sitwell and Pierce and —”

The rest of Steve’s words lodged in his throat at the rush of respect — even affection — that Bucky felt at the mention of Pierce’s name. “You know Director Pierce?” he asked hopefully. “He can help us.”

 _Shit_.

Steve felt sick to his stomach. To think that traitor had commanded even the least bit of respect from Bucky, let alone this rush of feeling, had Steve in knots for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that Steve would have to break the news. “Pierce was HYDRA, love.”

Bucky shook his head, absolutely confident. Sympathetic, even. “That’s what they told you,” he said gently, barely glancing up as the subway ground to a shaky halt at a station. “We’ve been working _against_ HYDRA this whole time — practically our whole lives.”

“No, honey, that’s what _they_ told _you_. He was HYDRA; it’s a known fact. We can look it up in the paper. He was the one confusing you, wasn’t he?”

“No. No, he was _helping_ me. He’s been running my missions... It has to be the last twenty years. Every time I came out of cryo, he was there for me, no matter where I was or what was going on.”

“And he was the one telling you what’s what? And letting you know when you were confused?”

Steve felt a spike of anxiety that vanished almost immediately, muffled by a haze of ‘confusion’ that Steve had come to learn was a symptom of Bucky’s conditioning. After a couple of blinks, Bucky shook his head, frowning deeply, and said, “Yeah, but —”

“Psyops,” Steve interrupted. “He was HYDRA, and he snowed everyone, even Fury, for decades.”

“No,” Bucky said again. The haze grew into a thick fog blanketing his mind and dulling his emotional response. “Director Pierce can explain it. We’ll go to him. He’ll explain everything.”

Squeezing Bucky’s hands in his, Steve felt his chest tighten with anxiety of his own, worried what his words would do to Bucky. “Babe, he can’t. He’s dead.”

Bucky’s grief hit Steve like a truck, stealing his breath and bringing tears to his eyes, even though _he_ didn’t mourn Pierce’s death for a second. It felt like his own mother’s death all over again, and he realized with horror that Pierce had been a guardian to Bucky — a father-figure.

“He’s dead?” Bucky whispered, staring wide-eyed at Steve, so caught up in the moment that the train’s abrupt stop caught him off-guard, and he had to grab the seat for balance.

But before Steve could answer, the grief disappeared under a rush of anger that washed the world in blood-red. Steve clenched his jaw to keep from growling, and he felt the sting of claws threatening to break free.

“Who?” Bucky asked, snarling the word out. “Who killed him?”

Even as he felt Bucky’s emotions, Steve still had his own wits about him — and his own knowledge of what had happened and why. As he pushed back the anger that had invaded him, he found himself relieved that he wasn’t actually sure of the answer. All he knew was that either Nick or Nat had ‘neutralized the threat’.

He took a deep breath and consciously brought his love and care for Bucky into his mind, not to actively combat Bucky’s state, but to give himself space to breathe and interact has he wanted to and not as outside emotions dictated. “I don’t know. But I _do_ know that whoever it was would only have done so if they were absolutely sure that Pierce was HYDRA and needed to be stopped.”

An inhuman growl escaped. Steve felt the imminent shift and panicked at the thought of having a grief-stricken werewolf loose in a subway car. His situational awareness was sharp enough that he realized they had about two seconds to get out the doors before they closed and the train left the station, so he moved fast.

Grabbing Bucky by the lapels and hauling him to his feet, Steve raised his voice to carry across the car. “ _Out,_ please. Excuse us.” Then he practically threw Bucky out the doors and slammed his back against a pillar on the station platform. “Hey. Stay with me, Buck. Right here.” He took strong hold of Bucky’s hand, as if he were shaking it, making Bucky aware of his fingers and thumb, hoping it would keep him from shifting.

Bucky stared at him, breathing hard, obviously fighting against his own rage. Then he gripped Steve’s hand tightly, almost crushing the bones, and pulled him into a hug. He buried his face against Steve’s shoulder, hand clenched in his T-shirt, and shook his head. “No. No,” he whispered as the grief pushed away the rage once more.

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m here. I got you. It’s okay.” Steve’s voice cracked as he tried desperately to comfort Bucky while feeling the same devastating grief that had overcome him. Steve wrapped his free arm around Bucky’s shoulders and cupped the back of his head with one hand. It was as if he were trying to shield his forlorn Bucky from the emotions that wracked them both. If only it were a threat from the outside that Steve could fend off to keep Bucky safe.

Slowly, the grief ebbed — as did the threat of an uncontrolled shift. Bucky’s hand relaxed, and he dragged in a breath, lifting his head enough to whisper, “Sorry.”

Steve kissed his forehead and murmured soothingly, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You       lost someone important to you.” He found, in his focus on Bucky, that he could hide his disgust at the idea that Pierce meant so much to him. Hopefully that meant Bucky couldn’t feel it through their connection. Steve was still turned around by the cognitive dissonance of his own mind and Bucky’s converging on this point, but at least it wasn’t making him sick anymore. “I’m sorry about that. About all of it.”

Bucky nodded, still breathing deeply. Steve could feel the urge to go wolf clawing at his skin, but he held it back. “Okay.” He looked around, frowning at the sign on the platform. “Can we... maybe find coffee or something? Somewhere safe?”

They needed food. It would help ground them both. Steve wanted to suggest they just go home — to the Tower — but he knew Bucky wouldn’t go for it. Not so soon after executing a plan to escape. But nothing else felt safe enough for two emotionally unstable werewolves to sit and talk. “There’s gotta be a diner somewhere close. We’re in New York city, after all.” He couldn’t get the temptation of going to Central Park and shifting to wolf for a bit out of his head, but that idea could wait until they’d calmed down.

“Yeah. That’s good.” Sounding relieved, Bucky shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and started towards the nearest staircase. “Can you keep an eye on our six?”

Steve was a step behind and he rested a protective hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he radiated a calm assurance that he only half-felt. “I’ve got your back, hon. Don’t worry.”

 

~~~

 

Instead of a diner, they found a Starbucks kiosk in a corner of a department store. The smell of perfume and cologne was enough to make Steve sneeze a couple of times; the coffee and sugary syrups didn’t help. But as soon as they got in line, Bucky relaxed, and Steve knew it was because they were part of a crowd, anonymous and safe.

Bucky scanned the chalkboard menu, then frowned and leaned close to Steve “What the fuck’s a... macch-i-ato?”

Taking the opportunity to wrap his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and kiss his ear, Steve grinned and said, “I’ve been asking myself that for two years. This place seems to have a different idea about that than the rest of the world. It’ll taste like a coffee flavored milkshake, I think. With whipped cream and everything.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? Okay, let’s try that,” he said, looking at the glass case of desserts. He pointed at a plate of small, triangular pastries covered with white icing. They were labeled mini-scones, though Steve was pretty sure he’d never seen anything like that back in England. “And a bunch of those.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve nodded, unable to deny Bucky anything at the moment. “A few, you sugar hound. The drink is gonna have you wired already.” He vowed that when they stepped up to the counter and ordered, he’d ask for any food that wasn’t sweet so they might have a chance of not bouncing off the walls.

They ended up with two sandwiches that were something like Italian grilled cheese with tomato and pesto, a plain Americano — Steve had learned how to get a decent cup of regular coffee out of these places — the caramel macchiato that Bucky wanted, and six ‘scones’. Bucky had tried to order a full dozen, but Steve cut him off with a low growl and his Captain look, which probably only worked because of the love he knew Bucky could feel. Pulling rank had never done a damned thing to rein in the Howling Commandos during the war.

And it didn’t stop Bucky from spotting someone else’s drink, then going back to the barista so he could charm her into adding chocolate shavings to his macchiato. Steve let it pass, reminding himself that Bucky was mourning — however unworthy Pierce really was of his grief.

“Okay. So start from the beginning,” Bucky said as he eyed the chocolate-covered whipped cream that topped his drink. With a shrug, he stuck a finger in the whipped cream, then licked it clean.

Steve looked down at his plain black coffee to keep himself from staring at Bucky’s mouth. “Beginning of what, exactly?”

“Trusting your team. You said something about not wanting to ‘share’ Sam.”

Wondering when on earth communication between the two of them would ever get easy — or at least not so very hard — Steve sighed and tried to collect his thoughts. “Technically, my team is the Avengers. There are six of us, with Fury as Director. S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited us, and we fought the battle of New York together. Tony and Nat are a part of that. But none of us are HYDRA — never have been. And then you showed up and tried to kill Nick, and all I had was Nat until we needed help. So we called on Sam, who I met last month. Turns out he’s as good as an Avenger in a pinch. And a hell of a lot easier to hang out with than Tony. But I’d trust any of them with my life. Yours too, honestly.”

Bucky nodded, frowning down at his drink. He’d worked through about half the whipped cream. “You keep saying you’re _not_ HYDRA, like you believe it.” He glanced up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “If you’re not HYDRA, and you keep saying _I’m_ HYDRA... How? How’d that happen?”

“I’m not sure, babe. JARVIS might be able to find something in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files. But basically, Zola and Pierce stayed true to Schmidt’s ideas and infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., then wreaked havoc throughout the world for decades, using you as their pet agent of chaos. It took us until a few days ago to uncover the extent of the damage. They just ate away at us from the inside, without anyone knowing.” Steve slowly felt himself overcome with regret — his own — and had a hard time looking Bucky in the eye.

Bucky took a few seconds, sipping experimentally at his coffee, before he asked, “And you trust JARVIS?”

Steve was taken aback at the question, and it made him look up at Bucky and blink. “He’s a computer. He doesn’t lie. I’m sure Tony built that into his programming. Any information he gives is going to be accurate and as complete as he can make it. So, yes. I’d call that trustworthy.”

“Okay.” Bucky went to lift his left hand, which he’d been hiding under the table, then caught himself. “And you’re sure it’s safe to go back? We can still disappear. Nobody will ever find us.”

A smile spread over Steve’s mouth at the idea. But then he realized that Bucky had probably felt much safer on the lam than in the headquarters of what must have seemed like the enemy. “It’s safe. I promise. Especially with all of Tony’s safeguards in place. And if you want to talk to JARVIS about what he’s found on you to understand it all better...”

Bucky’s nod was hesitant. “All right. We’ll go back. But if you want to leave, or if there’s someone there you don’t trust... I’ve got your back. They can’t stop us, together.”

“Buck...” Steve could feel his face flush and his heartbeat speed up. “You know I think the world of Sam, right?”

“You’re still conflicted about him,” Bucky protested as he scooped up two of the scones. He popped one in his mouth and used the other to point at Steve, mumbling, “There’s _something_ going on in there.”

“Yeah. Sex. You’ve been saying you want him, and I don’t know where that leaves me. Especially in relation to _him._ ”

Bucky frowned, chewed through the second scone, then swallowed. “Why? You keep saying how much you like him.”

“Yeah, but I told you this morning, I’m not sure that means I want to fuck him. Or feel you fucking him.” Steve had lowered his voice, but he still felt weird having this conversation in a coffee shop.

“But you want him to brush you, right?” Bucky asked, confused.

It was Steve’s turn to frown. “I guess, but...” His eyebrows jumped to his hairline as he guessed, “It’s the same for you? Sex and getting brushed?” He wasn’t sure if that made things feel awkward or hot.

Bucky shrugged. “They both feel good. One’s just without any fur.” Frowning uncertainly, he added, “I’m not sure how it’d work, with fur.”

“But then... does sex mean nothing more than something that feels good?” The crack in Steve’s heart at the idea let out an embarrassed heat to spread through his body and sear his skin.

Bucky pushed aside his coffee cup so he could take hold of both of Steve’s hands, forgetting about hiding his left arm. “It doesn’t have to mean anything — not when what we already have is so much more,” he said, projecting reassurance.

“Okay.” Steve sighed and then took another slow, deep breath. Thinking about it that way helped. He was still too new at the whole sex thing to understand Bucky’s way of going about it, but it felt good knowing how much he cared about their connection. “So what does it mean for you when you have more than one pack member?”

“I...” Bucky blinked a couple of times, then shrugged, unconcerned, and freed his right hand so he could go back to sneaking more scones out of the bag. He turned his left hand over, letting Steve cover it without having to pull away. Quietly, he said, “They’d just be our pack. You’re thinking like a human again.”

“But you’d feel it like you do with me.” Steve shook his head. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I was only ever looking for one dance partner. And you keep talking like I should be able to access the wolf-mind, but I can’t even shift into hybrid mode, so how...” He pulled away and wrapped his hand around his coffee cup, staring into it and trying to keep his breath calm.

“What? Steve, c’mon,” Bucky said, worry threading through his encouraging tone. “It’s been a day, and we’re stuck in the fucking city. We’re lucky you didn’t turn into a damn poodle.”

That got a snort of laughter. Steve looked up at Bucky with half a grin and teased, “You’d leave me if I turned into a poodle, wouldn’t you? That’s breedism, Buck.” He shook his head as if disappointed. Joking was easier than addressing his fears.

Grinning, Bucky kicked him under the table. “Nah, I’d keep you. I just wouldn’t take you out where anyone else could see. A guy’s gotta have standards.”

It was truly comforting when Bucky fell back into his old cocky self and they found a rhythm for their banter. It felt like home. But it made those moments of insecurity and the fog of conditioning that descended upon him that much more apparent. And worrisome. “Clearly. You got all spruced up for this very fancy date we’re having.” Steve leaned in and raised an eyebrow. “Believe me, I plan on taking advantage of how smooth that shave made your damned face. C’mere.”

Bucky glanced warily around, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he leaned across the table, and the sweet kiss, full of affection and love, _almost_ hid the rustling sound of his hand slipping into the bag of scones. Steve slapped his hand down on the bag, inadvertently biting a little too hard on Bucky’s lower lip as he did. Bucky’s whine was a little too wolfish — as were the puppy dog eyes he turned on Steve. Unfairly.

Steve kept his growl just this side of feral, sort of. “No. Not unless you plan on jogging home. By yourself. I’m not sharing our rooms with you when you’re sugar high, pup.”

“Too bad,” Bucky said slyly. “I was thinking of keeping you up with me. All night.”

The whine that Steve let out was on the edge of human hearing. He grabbed Bucky’s lapel and tugged as he stood, then kissed Bucky hard and briefly before saying, “Home. Now. Get moving, Sergeant.”

Bucky put the lid back on his coffee, then shook the last scone into his hand as he stood. “Can we get more for the ride back home?”

Huffing in exasperation that he didn’t really feel, Steve said, “Only because you didn’t leave me any.”


	31. Chapter 31

“Welcome back, Captain, Sergeant,” JARVIS said, voice echoing mechanically inside the still-unfinished elevator.

_Shit._

No use trying to sneak in quietly when there was an all-seeing computer in their midst at all times. “JARVIS,” Steve acknowledged. “Everything okay?”

“Your absence caused some concern, Captain. I’m required to inform Mr. Stark of your return. Agent Romanoff and Sam have requested the same courtesy. Shall I contact them?”

Steve looked over at Bucky, wanting to make sure he was feeling okay about Steve’s team — his team, too, if he wanted. All Steve could sense was Bucky’s pleasure over the scones he was still munching and his ease with his surroundings. Steve must have been as convincing as he’d hoped earlier. As long as Bucky felt safe, that hard conversation they’d had was worth it. “Go ahead. Thanks for asking, though. We appreciate it.”

“Very good, Captain. And” — JARVIS hesitated — “my apologies, but Mr. Stark has invited you and Sergeant Barnes to his workshop at your convenience, if you aren’t otherwise occupied.”

Noticing that the language JARVIS used was much more polite than necessary, Steve wondered for a moment how Tony had actually phrased that ‘invitation’. He let his indecision about accepting flow over to Bucky, his eyebrows raised. Bucky answered with a shrug and a sugary kiss, then tipped his head back and shook out the to-go bag to get at the crumbs.

“You know he wants to look at your arm. And how it connects to your brain.” Steve licked the sweetness off his lips before adding, “I can fend him off if he gets to be too much at any point...”

Bucky shrugged again as he crumpled the bag and shoved it in the pocket of his denim jacket. “Not surprised, if he’s anything like his dad.”

“Doesn’t mean he’ll be nice — or pleasant. He’s got no motivation to keep you happy. Though at least he’s learning not to make me angry.” Steve tugged Bucky’s hand out of his pocket and licked the sugar off his fingers.

Bucky shrugged again, staring at Steve’s mouth with heated eyes. “Between us, we can stop anything he can throw at us. I know...” He frowned, head tipping to the side a bit. “I know the specs on his armor?” he said uncertainly.

Steve paused with Bucky’s pinky finger an inch from his mouth. “You do? Was he a target?”

“Only a possible one,” Bucky said slowly, as if dragging the words from his memory. “We thought — _they_ thought they could get him to understand reas—uh, their side of things.”  

Happy to notice that Bucky’s mind was starting to distance itself from HYDRA, Steve smiled encouragingly and lowered their hands to not distract Bucky from remembering.

“They thought he might be brought around to our — _their_ cause,” Bucky said, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Means he’s vulnerable. They might have something on him.”

Steve looked closely at him and spoke gently, despite knowing that his tension would be apparent to Bucky. “Do you have any idea what that might be? Not that Tony wouldn’t have many things...”

Bucky shook his head, glancing automatically at the blank front wall where the elevator floor display hadn’t yet been installed. “I don’t know. Compartmentalized intel, remember?” he asked with a wry smile. “If I didn’t need to know, I didn’t _want_ to know.”

Steve refrained from asking if Bucky would have been told if he _had_ wanted to know, and he tried to suppress a shiver at the idea that Bucky could kill without knowing why. “Think we should tell him?”

“If you trust...” Bucky trailed off, but the _‘him’_ was obvious. He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Probably.”

Not bothering to affirm that he did trust Tony, since he knew Bucky could feel it,  Steve nodded. He was glad to have an agenda of their own for going to Tony’s workshop. It helped Steve to focus and keep things on task. “Okay. Let’s go, then.”

 

~~~

 

“If I’m there, I can help you,” Pepper protested, beautiful eyes magnified by the holographic display that filled the air over the console. “The PR proposal is solid, but there are always last-minute problems.”

“‘No plan survives first contact with the enemy’,” Tony quoted dryly. “But I’ve got you on speed dial. I need to know you’re safe.”

Pepper smiled. “Uh huh. And what are you not telling me?”

Tony held up his hands and tried to look innocent, even though he knew it was a dead giveaway. Pepper had fallen for his innocent look once in her life, just three days after he’d hired her, and about five seconds before an experimental drone had taken pot shots at them both. The fact that its ammo hopper had been loaded with rubber bullets hadn’t comforted her fears at all, and only a quick raise had kept her from walking on the spot.

“Tony...” she warned.

Sighing, he glanced unnecessarily at the console, where _SECURE_ was blinking in red letters. “Cap turned into a werewolf.”

Her eyebrows disappeared under her red-gold bangs. “You’re still on this werewolf kick? Is _that_ the best you can come up with?”

“Yes! I was serious,” he protested, thinking this was the price he paid for a lifetime of embellishing the truth. “Bucky — Cap’s old boyfriend from the Jurassic Era — turned out to be a werewolf, and he bit Steve, among other things.”

Pepper’s eyes narrowed. “Tony, have you been drinking again?”

Throwing up his hands in surrender, Tony said, “JARVIS, pull up the helicarrier footage.”

The image of Pepper’s face slid to the upper right corner of the display, replaced by the still-hard-to-believe shot of Steve facing off against Bucky. His huge werewolf form was so terrifying — so obviously _real_ — that Tony suspected Bucky would make a fortune in Hollywood, assuming he could convince the directors he wouldn’t eat his co-stars.

After only ten or fifteen seconds, Tony said, “Cut it, JARVIS.”

The helicarrier footage disappeared, replaced by Pepper’s face, now drained of color and wide-eyed. “Oh, my god,” she said softly. “And you have him at the Tower? _With you?_ ”

“With Cap,” Tony said as soothingly as he could manage, which probably wasn’t very. “He’s —”

“You just said _he’s_ a werewolf, too!”

Oops. Maybe Tony should’ve left out that part. “But he’s still Steve Rogers. Look, whatever this is, it’s not like in the movies. For one thing, that fight wasn’t during a full moon.”

“Oh, my god,” she repeated, eyes closing as she pressed a hand to her forehead. “You didn’t tell the executive team about this, did you? PR? God, this is a —”

“C’mon, Pep,” he protested. “Give me _some_ credit. You, JARVIS, and the rest of the Avengers are the only ones who know. And speaking of which, they’re almost here. I’ve gotta go, honey.”

“Tony...” She gave him a sad smile. “Please be careful?”

“Al—” Tony cut off the lie — _always_ — and turned it into, “I’ll try. Love you, honey.”

“I love you,” she said worriedly.

With a wave of his hand, Tony ended the video call, then pulled up the workshop interface. Last time Steve’s boyfriend had been in here, Tony had missed his chance to do a passive scan. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. Even a passive scan would be better than nothing, and he was _itching_ to get his hands on that arm.

Apparently, the Wonder Twins had given up their job as Stark Industries clothing models. Instead, they were in thrift store hand-me-downs, though they wore the frayed, ill-fitted clothes with a certain level of panache. And Bucky... Well, he didn’t look half-werewolf anymore. He’d gotten a haircut, and his five-day scruff was gone, stripping ten years off his look and giving him an almost boyish charm.

No wonder why Dad’s records had listed Bucky as a ladies’ man. Suddenly, Tony felt relieved that Pepper was across the Atlantic.

Steve walked right up to Tony’s workstation and looked him square in the eye. “First off, what do you want?”

Tony didn’t look directly at Bucky, but he noted the way Bucky moved to one side, where he could cover both Tony and the door, as if the two werewolves were expecting an attack at any moment. Suddenly wondering if they were all still on the same side, Tony leaned back on his stool and snapped, “Nice to see you, too.”

Furrowed brows and a wrinkled nose met Tony’s response before Steve said, “Sorry, did we worry you earlier? We needed some air. And I don’t have the patience to beat around the bush.”

“I’m sorry. Am I inconveniencing you two? You know, with the whole safehouse/protection from the bloodthirsty politicians thing?” Tony asked, temper flaring bright. “Because if I am, the door’s right there.”

“No. Come on, Tony. We’re here, aren’t we? I’m not trying to sound ungrateful, I just...” Steve huffed in frustration, but possibly more at himself than anything. He tried again with what sounded like a more conciliatory tone. “If you just wanted to shoot the shit, we have something to tell you. If not, go ahead and tell us what you need.”

Normally, Tony would have dismissed anything anyone else wanted to say out of habit, other than Bruce, because he was a genius, too. But Tony wanted to get his hands — and sensors — on that arm, and that meant he needed the two socially-deficient werewolves in a good mood, so he gestured at Steve, saying, “You first, Cap.”

Steve kept his mouth shut and turned to nod at Bucky, who turned his attention to Tony. “You’re vulnerable to being turned by” — he hesitated — “ _against_ Steve. You’re a target, but only as a last resort, if they can’t get you on their side.”

 _They?_ Tony thought, mentally latching onto Bucky's stumbling words. “Sounds like you’re talking about blackmail.”

Bucky shrugged. “Or logic. They implied you’d come around to” — another hesitation — “their cause.”

Tony let out a breath and got up, heading for the coffee pot — and the bottle next to it — to buy himself time. He had no idea whose side _anyone_ was on, at this point. Had Bucky managed to turn _Steve?_

 _Obviously_ , Tony thought as he poured coffee into a mug, then picked up the bottle. But were they sticking together because they were both werewolves, or were they werewolves who were on someone else’s side, now trying to turn everyone else?

“He’s talking about HYDRA’s plan of attack, Tony. He’s trying to let you know that you’re a target. See it as the olive branch it is.” Steve’s voice had no strength to it. “Buck, tell him how you know this. About the suit.”

“The suit?” Tony asked, splashing whisky onto the workbench, he turned so quickly. That arm was about twenty years ahead of anything Tony could design, or so he guessed, and if whoever had designed it got into his suit — or _Pepper’s_ suit — the operating system could be compromised.

“I have specs on two different versions of your battle suits,” Bucky said. “Just in case you couldn’t be persuaded, and I had to eliminate you instead.”

There was something chilling about the matter-of-fact tone of voice he used. Tony nodded and picked up his mug, and only years of practice at hiding his fear kept his hand from shaking. “We’re probably all targets,” he said before he took a fortifying sip. The coffee was too hot, and there wasn’t nearly enough whisky in it, but it helped. A little.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re the only one who wasn’t a primary target from the beginning.”

_Shit._ Tony went to his console, mentally retreating into the clean, pure world of code, thinking about what he could do to improve his monitoring programs. He wanted to ask if Pepper was one of those targets, but he didn’t dare. If Bucky and Steve really had turned — or if they weren’t  _completely_ on Tony’s side anymore — he didn’t want to make her a more enticing target than she might already be.

“Tony...” Steve’s voice held a note of concern. “You aren’t in any _more_ danger. We just thought, since Bucky’s with us now, that he should let you know what HYDRA knows about you.”

“Nothing new,” Tony said with a falsely casual air. “This whole ‘fighting HYDRA’ thing runs in the family, remember?”

“I need files,” Bucky said abruptly, moving to Steve’s side. “Everything you’ve got on HYDRA and the SSR.”

Tony glanced at Steve, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Steve took a deep breath and glanced at Bucky before answering. “He needs to understand what happened. You know they convinced him he was fighting on our side this whole time? Except they told him _we_ were HYDRA.” The werewolf twins were standing close enough together that Tony couldn’t see Steve’s arm, but by the way his shoulder shifted it seemed like he was rubbing Bucky’s back.

“We? The Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D.?” he asked before his brain caught up with him, and he felt his eyes go wide. “Oh. _Oh._ ”

“All of the above?” As he answered Tony, Steve looked at Bucky. It was clear that communication was happening between them without the need for words, and Tony hoped like hell that werewolves were _just_ werewolves and not _psychic_ werewolves.

Just in case, he stared hard at Steve and pictured him in the buff, as his dad’s notes had described regarding the serum infusion process. Apparently, every nurse in the place had been pawing at Steve after he’d come out of the Vita-Ray chamber. When Tony didn’t get attacked by either of them, he figured his thoughts were private — and then realized what a stupid test that had been.

Was he sleep deprived again? Shit. He made a mental note to ask JARVIS.

“The serum _should_ restore physiological systems to optimum efficiency, including neurological damage,” Tony said, standing back up so abruptly that the stool rolled three feet back. “No matter how much they scrambled his brains, everything would go back to normal eventually.”

“They _wiped_ his memory after each mission, Tony. Does that sort of thing really come back?” Steve’s patented furrowed-brow pout was back.

“Should. Tell me something you should’ve forgotten, but haven’t.”

“Huh?” Bucky asked, shooting Steve a questioning look.

“JARVIS? A tally on how many cups of coffee Tony’s had today, please?” Steve’s forehead was still lined, but now it was because his eyebrows were reaching for his hairline.

“Since midnight or since he last awakened, Captain?” JARVIS asked.

“Traitor,” Tony accused.

Steve looked hard at Tony, “How long has today been, Stark? Don’t you ever sleep when Pepper’s out of town?”

Since Tony didn’t have a legitimate answer to the first question, he said, “Too much to do. World in chaos. In case you forgot, the whole world can’t decide if it hates you or not. And there’s a Senate subcommittee hearing, isn’t there, JARVIS?”

“It is likely but as of yet not confirmed, sir,” JARVIS answered.

“Right. Let me know when that happens.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tony nodded and looked expectantly at the Werewolf Twins, expecting them to leave — and then he remembered the whole purpose of having them here in the first place. “Arm!”

Steve was inconveniently on Bucky's left side, blocking Tony’s view of the arm. Even more irritating, Steve grabbed hold of Bucky's metal elbow as he shot Tony a warning look. A low growl came out of one of them. Tony thought it was Steve but it was hard to tell.

“Hey. Easy,” Tony said, holding up his hands. He wanted to glance at his screen to see how the passive scan was going, but he knew better than to call attention to JARVIS’ surreptitious monitoring. Still, he couldn’t keep an irritated edge out of his voice as he added, “I’m on your side here, remember?”

Looking somewhat contrite, Steve said, “Yeah. Just... be careful. It's been a rough day.”

“I figured when you evaded my surveillance,” Tony said thoughtlessly.

This time, the growl _definitely_ came from Bucky. Steve gripped Bucky's arm more tightly. “Not inspiring confidence in us, Stark. What does that mean, exactly?” He looked at Bucky, who glanced sidelong at Steve without turning, as if keeping Tony in his peripheral vision.

“Okay. You know what? I’m done,” Tony snapped, flattening his hands on the console as he leaned forward. His fingers rested on the activation keys for the suit that was currently on the workstand. It was far from complete, but it would at least give these two ancient relics something to think about. “If you don’t want my help, get the hell out of my Tower.”

“Remind us how messing with Bucky’s arm is ‘help’, and we’ll stick around to defend your Tower when they come for you.” Steve’s voice had turned exasperatingly calm, though Tony could feel the hint of ice behind it.

“If ‘messing with’ is the best scientific term you can come up with, I don’t have words small enough for an antique like you to understand the tech in that arm.”

“I’m not trying to understand it. It’s his fucking _arm,_ Tony, not a new toy to take apart and tinker with. Until you realize that” — Steve turned and headed for the door, Bucky at his side, the two of them walking in sync — “you don’t get to touch it.”

A tiny corner of Tony’s mind urged him to call Steve back, but the rest of him was seething mad. What the hell did he need with the PR nightmare of two werewolves? He had a company to think of — and a government to wrangle. If nothing else, the disaster that would follow those two might just be enough to keep attention off Tony and Stark Industries.

Once the doors closed behind them, Tony pulled his stool back over to the console and sat down. “JARVIS, full surveillance on both of them, privacy override, downgrade to basic guest access. And get me Romanoff. She’s going to need to take the public lead on this mess.”


	32. Chapter 32

Steve’s anger dissipated once the elevator doors closed, and what was left was disappointment. And a bit of self-recrimination. He had no idea how every conversation with Stark went steeply downhill in a matter of minutes, but he knew it was at least half his own fault. What he was both surprised and thankful for was that Bucky didn’t even _look_ the phrase ‘I told you so’ at him. It didn’t keep Steve from wondering if they wouldn’t have been better off with a clean getaway. Though who knew what Tony actually meant by surveillance — whether that was just the standard JARVIS-knows-everything sort of thing or something more wide-ranging, Steve had no clue. And if Tony wasn’t in the mood to give out clues, JARVIS wouldn’t be either.

He leaned his shoulder against Bucky’s, and that was when he realized he hadn’t been taking his emotional cues from Bucky in that conversation. Bucky had been totally calm until Steve’s hackles had raised.

_Shit._

“I’m sorry. I did that wrong. That wasn’t my decision to make.”

Bucky frowned curiously at him. “What?”

“Whether Stark got a look at your arm or not. Your body, your decision. I jumped in when I should have kept my mouth closed.” Steve smiled sheepishly at Bucky.

Frowning even more, Bucky shook his head and said, “You knew something I didn’t. I followed your lead.”

Sighing at his failure, Steve said, “I just let Tony wind me up when I knew better. He’s a good man, but hard to take. It’s not that I don’t trust him; it’s that he’s too unpredictable for my liking.” He leaned more heavily on Bucky. “And I don’t want you hurt or scared or anything.”

Bucky shrugged and slipped his arm around Steve’s waist, hugging him close. “We’re soldiers, Steve. There’s no room for that sort of thing in us.”

Steve felt the acceptance in Bucky, and it stabbed at him to think he’d lived the last seventy years as if in a war zone, never getting the chance — the luxury — to feel pain or emotions, always needing to finish his missions, and then being put right into cryo so he had no time to heal, physically or psychologically. He turned in Bucky’s arm to touch his face and quietly said, “But you’re a person too, Buck. You’re my most important person. And I want you feeling safe.”

“I _am_ safe,” Bucky said with a quiet laugh. “You’re here. That’s as safe as we’re ever going to be.”

The rush of affection that overflowed in Steve had him leaning even more against Bucky — mouth to temple, chest to chest. When he crowded Bucky against the elevator wall, the rest of their bodies were pressed together, and the connection helped Steve let go of everything that had happened in the workshop. He murmured against Bucky’s ear, “I love you so much. I’m so fucking glad you’re home.”

With a low, contented growl, Bucky murmured, “I’ll never get over hearing you say that.”

“What, that I love you?” Steve kissed Bucky’s cheekbone as he nodded, then his jaw and his eyebrow and his nose, saying, “I love you,” after every one until Bucky, laughing, ducked his head.

“Sap,” Bucky accused warmly.

Realizing the elevator doors were standing open and anyone could come out into the hallway and see them canoodling, Steve pulled away and stood up straight. “Well, _somebody’s_ gotta say it around here,” he teased.

“You know I love you,” Bucky said, following Steve into the hallway on the residential level. “But I think I have for about forever. Right?”

Steve took hold of Bucky’s hand and laced their fingers together, metal alternating with flesh and bone. “I do know it now. I can feel it all the time, like the air I breathe. But I didn’t know it back then. Honestly, I never understood why you were friends with me. I was grateful as hell that you were, but it didn’t make sense.”

Bucky shook his head, frowning again. “Maybe I’m confused, but... I _think_ you were always the same person. The body didn’t change _you_. Right?”

There was no fog descending over Bucky’s mind, so Steve knew he was the normal kind of confused, and it reminded him that Bucky had to work against both his programming and his memory loss and they were two separate things. “Yeah, that was something Dr. Erskine said at the start. The serum would make me more of the man I was to begin with. It wouldn’t change me, except to enhance everything inside. And outside.” He squeezed Bucky’s hand as he smiled crookedly. “But I was a little shit back when we were kids. Age and experience have changed me some, I hope.”

“I dunno,” Bucky teased, nudging Steve’s arm. “You’re still a little shit, aren’t you?”

“Learned it from watching you, punk.” Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky’s cheek, then stopped still in front of Sam’s door. “Let’s see if Sam’s home.”

Bucky lifted his head slightly and sniffed, then nodded. “He is. And he’s cooking,” he added, eyes brightening.

Experimentally, Steve sniffed the air, then wrinkled his nose as he caught the sharp, artificial smell of fresh paint and carpeting. But underneath, he smelled garlic and tomatoes and two or three different kinds of meat, and the smell went straight to his stomach.

He’d always had a too-fast metabolism, and the serum had just made it worse. His stomach rumbled as if he and Bucky hadn’t eaten all day. Under it all, he almost missed the subtle, undefinable scent he’d come to associate with Sam.

“We can’t just show up expecting to be fed. Maybe I should make something to bring over?” Steve's politeness warred with his sense of timing. They might not be welcome in the Tower much longer. In fact, odds were good they wouldn’t be allowed in their own apartment soon. He let his worry and indecision flow over to Bucky, who growled, eyes narrowing as he looked at the door.

Instead of speaking aloud, Bucky lifted his right hand and spread his fingers. Steve felt the subtle flare of exertion as Bucky shifted just enough to extend his claws as his fingers went dark with fur.

Steve frowned for a second before he realized his mistake. Bucky perceived the worry to be _about_ Sam. “No, babe. Not him. Sam comes _with_ us when we leave. Go ahead and knock. Politely,” he added for clarity. They'd had enough misunderstandings about Sam already.

Bucky closed his hand into a fist as his claws receded. He knocked, throwing a quick frown Steve’s way. “Is he ours now?”

The question caught Steve off guard. Did Bucky mean _pack?_ “He’s our friend. And I brought him into this mess. So if we’re leaving, he’s coming with for his own safety.” Not that Steve thought Tony would compromise Sam’s security on purpose, but it was the principle of the thing. Steve was Sam’s C.O. for this mission, and it wasn’t over yet.

Before Bucky could answer, the door unlatched, and Sam called, “C’mon in!” The open door intensified the smell of cooking, and Bucky grinned, heading inside without a moment’s hesitation.

"Stay in your skin, Buck." Steve called as he followed, closing the door behind him. He wanted them all able to talk if they needed to make an action plan.

“Why am I not surprised you two showed up about now?” Sam asked over his shoulder as he stirred a pot of something bubbling away on the stove. The sink was loaded with frying pans and cutting boards.

“Smells great,” Bucky said, circling the kitchen island to go right to the stove. “What is it?”

“My aunt’s jambalaya. And no, you don’t get the recipe,” Sam said, holding Bucky at bay with one hand. “But if you start on the dishes, there _might_ be enough to share.”

Steve grinned at Sam’s way of housetraining Bucky. “We weren't coming to mooch, despite what Bucky thinks. We need to talk over our options. It's possible Bucky and I just got kicked out of the Tower.”

“What happened?” Sam asked, giving them each a quick head-to-toe scan as if worried.

“Steve almost went for Tony’s throat,” Bucky said bluntly.

“I didn’t... ” Steve wondered if that was what it had looked like to Tony. Then he had another moment of disappointment, directed solely at himself. “Shit. I wouldn’t have. He just knows how to wind me up. I got, well, territorial.” He threw a sheepish glance Bucky’s way before trying to look Sam in the eye.

Sam’s brows shot up. He rested the stirring spoon on a plate, then went to the fridge. “Over what, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Bucky sidled closer to the stove. “Human shit —”

“Touch it and I shave Hello Kitty designs in your fur,” Sam threatened without turning from the fridge.

Bucky shot Steve a look. “Hello Kitty?"

“Search me.” Steve shrugged at Bucky, then looked back over to see Sam's hand emerge from the fridge holding three beers. He took two of them and beckoned Bucky. “Over Bucky’s arm. He still wants to mess with it. Says it's for research. But his voice got too emphatic.”

“Was that all?” Bucky asked, letting himself be lured away from the pot. “Wasn’t Howard the same way? I thought I remembered that.”

“Howard never pushed my buttons like Tony does. And, at least in my presence, he never looked at you like he wanted to eat you.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Steve realized how jealous he sounded.

Bucky laughed. “I remember a couple close calls with you almost walking in on us.”

And that was when the jealousy flared, hot and bright. Thankfully it only lasted a second before the absolute certainty that Bucky wanted him — and always had — overrode any insecurity. Steve paused and imagined the scenario for a moment, then said, “I have no idea what I would have done. Aside from blushing furiously.”

“Focus, you two,” Sam said as he opened his beer and leaned back against the countertop. “So, Tony’s pissed enough that he’d throw us out?”

“Not you. But us? I honestly don't know. JARVIS?” Steve looked up at the ceiling.

“Yes, Captain?” the computer asked.

“What’s our status as guests here?” Steve asked. He found he was holding his breath for the answer.

“Please specify whose status, Captain.”

Raising his eyebrows at Sam, Steve said, “All three of us, I guess.”

“Assigned apartments and guest access to fitness facilities. Additionally, Sam has access to Mr. Stark’s private residence and workshop,” JARVIS said.

So they’d been downgraded but not completely barred access. Was Tony hoping to play his cards right and still get Bucky in his workshop at some point? Steve found the prospect a lot less enraging at the moment. “Thanks, JARVIS.”

“My pleasure, Captain,” JARVIS answered.

Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve and asked, “So, what should I read into that?”

Frowning, Steve took a moment to get what Sam was hinting at. At least, he thought he did. “I don’t think you should get ideas, I’m pretty sure Pepper would have your head.”

“Huh?” Sam asked with a confused blink. Then he laughed and shook his head, saying, “Not what I meant. Stark doesn’t know me from anyone else, so why’s he willing to let me in and not you two? Why not just lock us all out?”

“He doesn’t understand you’re ours,” Bucky said absently. Most of his attention was fixed on the bubbling pot.

Steve looked quickly over at Bucky, wondering if that was an example of him being territorial or if he’d misunderstood their conversation before entering Sam’s apartment. The word _pack_ crossed Steve’s mind again, and he tried to parse out what it did to his body, but everything felt jumbled and strange. Not _wrong,_ just confusing. He glanced at Sam for a clue as to what _he_ thought about Bucky’s words, but Sam’s brows were up in confusion.

Trying to pick up the thread of the conversation that Bucky’s comment had cut, Steve answered Sam’s question as best he could. “Maybe because you weren’t there when I antagonized him? Or, well... You’re not a werewolf...?”

“Yet,” Bucky added.

Speechless, Steve stared at Bucky, totally unable to look Sam in the eye. After a moment, Sam said, “Well, uh, it’d be a little strange, me staying here if you’re not welcome. So, what’s the backup plan? Back to my place in D.C.?”

“Well, it’s very possible we won’t need a backup plan. If Tony hasn’t locked us out of the Tower already, he won’t do so out of spite. Unless I do something even more stupid.” Steve smiled wanly at Sam. “But, yeah. Maybe your place. My place is probably still in pieces, and I’m sure it’s being watched.”

“I can get us a safehouse,” Bucky said, casually moving around the island — so that Sam was no longer between him and the stove, Steve noted. “Hell, I can make us disappear.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Your call, Cap,” he said.

Steve ran his hands through his hair and reached for the unopened beer on the counter. He missed the taste of it, even if it wouldn’t do anything for him, except buy him time to think.

The last time Steve hadn’t trusted Tony, he’d watched Tony risk his life to take a nuke through a one-way gate into another dimension. Tony was arrogant, irritating, dismissive, condescending, and too smart for anyone's good, but he was also an Avenger. He was on Steve’s team. And when you went to war with someone, you learned to trust them way beyond personality differences.

Steve had been lucky that he’d gotten along well with all the Howling Commandos, and he knew it. Tony was difficult, but he was also the only Avenger who had come to their aid in D.C. — never mind the fact that it was because he was a nosy bastard. He’d also taken all of them in without a word and had the full force of his PR department dealing with the aftermath of the fall of HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

Steve knew he’d let himself get angry for no real reason. He also knew better than to let Stark get to him like he had. But if what Bucky had said was true — that it had looked like Steve was going to hurt Tony — then no wonder he’d been so inflammatory and exasperating. He’d been scared. Or at least nervous. Steve had been so focused on how Bucky felt — making sure he was okay, keeping him safe — that he’d disregarded any cues from Tony. And that was a mistake. It meant Steve owed him an apology.

“We don’t need to run,” he said to Sam with enough conviction that he was sure Bucky felt it. “Tony said it earlier: He’s on our side. I’ll go talk to him in a bit. Everything will be fine.”


	33. Chapter 33

After dinner, which was unsurprisingly delicious, Steve asked JARVIS to try and set up a meeting with Tony. Steve needed to apologize — to start putting the team back together. But the anxiety he felt about it meant that Bucky got protective, and it took longer to coax Bucky into staying with Sam than it did for JARVIS to get the go-ahead for the meeting. Much as Steve wanted Bucky at his side, he knew that the farther away Bucky was, the less protective Steve himself would be.

Finally, he told Bucky, “We can’t keep making Sam cook for us _and_ do the dishes. We have to help out.”

“So I’ll talk to Stark while _you_ help Sam.”

“Everybody hates doing dishes,” Sam said, grinning at them both. “How about _I_ talk to Stark while — No, skip that. You two would just end up eating everything that’s left in the fridge.”

“Yeah.” Bucky turned, eyeing Sam thoughtfully for a second. “I _think_ Steve used to do this all the time. Skipping out on doing the dishes. Is that right?” he asked, turning back to Steve.

Amused at how Bucky’s memories seemed to come back with a certain level of bias, Steve said, “I wasn’t ‘skipping out’. Most of the time I was the one cooking, so dishes were supposed to be your job. Now get to it while _I_ go talk to Tony. I’m not gonna bite his head off, I promise.” He ruffled Bucky’s hair, and Bucky growled playfully back at him.

“You do all the dishes, you get dessert,” Sam offered. When both werewolves looked at him, he shrugged and said, “Sorry, Cap. We’ll see if Bucky saves you any.”

“Any dishes, or any dessert? I call ‘not it’ on that frying pan.” Steve pointed to the pan that Sam had used to fry the sausage, then kissed Bucky’s head and patted Sam’s shoulder as he headed out. “I won’t be gone long.”

He left the two of them to manage the dishes, figuring Sam could keep Bucky from damaging anything and Bucky could keep Sam entertained. Thinking about them during the elevator ride up to the workshop gave Steve the perfect excuse not to think about the meeting with Tony or what he was going to say. Having expectations was half the problem with their communication, anyway. He took a deep breath to keep calm and distracted himself with wondering how Bruce kept his cool in general.

The elevator doors opened, and Steve could see Tony through the glass walls of the workshop. He was three-fourths of the way into one of his Iron Man suits — something that Steve had thought didn’t exist anymore. Either he was testing a prototype or he wasn’t taking any chances with this meeting.

If it was the latter, Steve had a lot more apologizing to do than he’d expected.

_Shit._

As Steve walked down the hall, the workshop doors opened. Tony looked up from the computer console where he stood. As Steve got closer, he noticed that Tony’s right gauntlet was on; the left rested on the console next to him, leaving him free to type one-handed.

“What’d you want?” he asked as soon as Steve walked in.

Best to get right to the point. “To apologize. I shouldn’t have gotten my hackles up earlier.”

“Yeah?” Tony snorted what sounded like a laugh, though he wasn’t smiling. “Guess that’s a literal thing with you now.”

Giving Tony a mild smile, Steve said, “Yeah, I’d show you, but I know what damage those hand boosters can do...”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’d do that without reason? You really don’t know a damned thing about me, do you?”

“If you think being in close proximity to my wolf form isn’t a reason, then either you don’t know   _me_ anymore or you’re right — I really don’t know you.” Steve kept walking closer to Tony, and stopped only when he was just a few feet away. “But you’ve never dressed for me before, and I can smell how nervous you are.”

“Creepy party trick. You’re not invited to the Fourth of July barbecue,” Tony said over the subtle creak and motorized whine of his suit as he leaned back away from Steve, even at this distance. “You and Barnes leaving?”

“I was hoping we wouldn’t have to, but if you just disinvited me from my own birthday party you must be angrier than I thought.” Steve reached out tentatively with one hand as if trying to calm a cornered animal. “I’m sorry.”

Tony nodded, looking like he wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you’ve been a touchy bastard since you got here.”

Steve sighed. “I just learned that the love of my life was turned into HYDRA’s pawn for seventy years and was used to assassinate people while being told he was fighting the good fight — which he believed with his whole heart, by the way. Oh yeah, _and_ he’s a werewolf. And before you deigned to show up, Nat and I were rooting out all of HYDRA’s hidden heads, during which I learned that _my_ sacrifice seventy years ago meant nothing to the world at large.” Tony had backed up and was holding his left gauntlet in his hand, ready to put it on. Steve closed his eyes, took a ragged breath, and tried to dial back both his anger and his sadness enough to calmly say, “It’s been a rough week, Tony. Cut me some slack.”

“You know what? No,” Tony said, taking one more step back. “I know what my dad did to you, and I can only guess at how much _more_ you can do now with fur and claws. You don’t get slack, any more than Bruce or Thor or even me in this goddamned suit do. I was _helping_. I didn’t ‘deign’ to come help. As soon as Pepper was out of the firing line, _I helped_. And that was _with_ that damned helicarrier targeted right on me.”

“Fine. But if we’re on the same side — if we really _are_ part of a team — you don’t get special thanks for _helping._ That’s your damned job. I’m grateful for the safe place to stay while I try to put Bucky back together. I am. But I have no idea what you want from me or why you’re so upset that you’re not getting it.” Steve managed to keep his volume under control, but he wasn’t sure he didn’t sound angry anyway.

“What I _want?_ ” Tony shoved his hand into the gauntlet and clanked towards Steve, until only the computer console separated them. “All I _want_ is what I told you before: a look at Barnes’ tech. Only now you can tack onto that for you to _stop treating me like the goddamned enemy!_ ”

“Stop treating Bucky like a science project — like a piece of damned tech you can figure out and bend to your will — and I’ll stop thinking you’re as bad as _HYDRA._ Because that’s what they did to him for _seventy fucking years,_ Stark.”

“What the _hell_ do you think I’m going to do?” Tony shouted. “Rip off his arm and dissect it? If you actually think I’d do that to someone, then _get out._ ”

_Shit._

Steve had come in to apologize, and here they were fighting again. How was it so easy for things to escalate with Tony? There wasn’t anyone else in Steve’s life that could push his buttons like this. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger and pain and keep it out of his voice. He didn’t speak until he could do so calmly.

“You look at him like a starving man looks at a piece of meat, Tony. I know you wouldn’t do _that,_ but whatever you do, just do it with _compassion._ I’m shit scared about what his reaction might be if you make him nervous. He’s been good with me, but he knows me from before HYDRA got to him. He knows your dad from back then, but he doesn’t know you. _Don’t_ upset him. It’s not safe.”

“Yeah, uh, in case you hadn’t noticed, _werewolf_ ,” Tony said.

Steve’s laugh had a hitch in it. “I noticed. I can feel him right now, that’s how much I notice. Honestly, now I’m one too, I might be able to help keep him calm while you examine him. But I told you, he’s had a lot of doctors mess with him, and a lot of restraints. I don’t know if stuff like that will set him off.”

“So much for the bondage party next full moon.”

“Oh, my God, Tony. Seriously?” A bemused grin stole over Steve’s face. “Is it caffeine, alcohol, or sleep deprivation? Or all three. JARVIS?”

“Hey, hey, no,” Tony said, waving a hand. “You bring a werewolf into the Tower where Pepper keeps her art collection, I’m going to make plans for the full moon — and the night before and after, just in case. I watch TV sometimes. I know how this goes. And now there’s two of you? That’s exponentially worse.”

“As far as I know, the full moon has nothing to do with anything, so cool your boosters, pal.” Steve gave Tony his mock-serious Captain face. “And to tell you the truth, I can’t find my hybrid form, so there’s only so much damage I can do.”

“See, if you hadn’t been a dick for the past few days, we could’ve worked on that. Now I’ve got other things higher up on the list.”

Steve huffed in amused exasperation. “You haven’t been the easiest to talk to either, Stark. Try sleeping more. You might not sound so much like an asshole.”

“Sleep has nothing to do with it,” Tony said turning away from the console to cross the workshop with loud steps. “I can be an asshole under any circumstances, even sober and well-rested. Why are you still here? Either go get your boyfriend or go away. Work to do. Worlds to save.”

A sigh escaped Steve before he spoke. “All right, fine. But please, Tony. Promise me you’ll actually think about how you can help him when you look at the arm. Because everyone who knew how it worked is either dead or trying to kill us.”

“Genius, remember? I don’t need to think about it. I’ve dealt with more complicated tech in my sleep.”

Steve almost called him out on the lie — Tony had said the other day that the arm was much more advanced than his own tech — but they were finally getting along, for them. “Right. Sure. I’ll check with him.” He headed toward the door, but couldn’t help throwing over his shoulder one parting shot, “You can take your suit off now.”

“Testing!” was Tony’s only warning before the light beside the door exploded, showering sparks and glass everywhere. Steve flinched hard at the near miss, but managed to continue walking until he got in the elevator.

The moment the doors closed, Steve chuckled and leaned back against the wall, shaking his head. That went as well as could be expected, given their track record. He really did think well of Tony. It was just hard not to react when he was baited, which seemed to be Tony’s favorite conversational quirk.

Sighing, he let his thoughts go to Bucky, reaching out to feel what he was up to — or at least how he was doing. There was a very focused contentment coming over their connection, and for a moment it soothed Steve — until he tried to imagine what could make Bucky feel something like that. It made his breath hitch and a growl rumble in his throat.

And that made him angry with himself, because he _liked_ Sam. A _lot._ And he didn’t want to feel jealous about them. When he took a deep breath, he could push it away and focus on the pleasure of knowing Bucky was feeling good. He let that carry him back to Sam’s apartment, where he let himself in before he thought to knock, as if having Bucky in there meant _he_ could enter whenever he wanted.

Pack thinking.

“Steve. Get over here,” Bucky demanded from where he sat at the kitchen island, still in human form, still clothed, though his feet were bare, shoes and socks tucked under his stool. Sam was sitting next to him, grinning over his shoulder at Steve.

Steve’s heart jumped at how happy the both of them seemed and how welcome he felt in the room. He walked up behind Bucky’s stool and rested his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, a smile on his face for Sam. “What’s up?”

In answer, Bucky dug a spoon into a paper tub of ice cream, then held it up for Steve. “It’s _ice cream_ , Steve. You wouldn’t believe what they put in it now.”

“That’s his second pint,” Sam added, grinning even more.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Steve mock complained, “Why? Why do I have to deal with a sugar-high werewolf _again?_ ” He couldn’t keep a smirk off his face as he leaned over Bucky’s shoulder and kissed his cheek before opening his mouth for the spoonful of ice cream. It was sweet and salty and tasted like a caramel sundae, and Steve growled in contentment as he ate it. “Wow, that’s good. Gimme another bite.”

Bucky slid off the stool, stuck the spoon in the tub, and gestured for Steve to take his seat. As he circled the island, he asked Sam, “There’s more in the freezer?”

“All yours,” Sam said indulgently. “Where the hell do you two put it?”

“Enhanced metabolism _and_ werewolf,” Bucky said, opening the freezer. “We could eat for a week straight and not put on an ounce.”

“Not as fun as it sounds,” Steve added as he dug into the pint. “Can I finish this one?”

“All yours,” Bucky said a heartbeat before Sam said, “Sure.”

Quickly swallowing the bite in his mouth, Steve laughed and said, “Are you sure he’s not pack already?” He meant it as a joke, but it didn’t seem Bucky took it as such. A jolt of shock ran down the pack bond to him and he looked over at Bucky, quizzically. He knewBucky hadn’t changed Sam, because he would have felt it, but he didn’t understand the reaction.

Bucky stared back at him, frowning. “I wouldn’t, without you,” he said, still holding the freezer door open with his hip.

Hearing that eased something in Steve he didn’t know was tense, and it made him smile softly and say, “Thanks, babe.” He wanted to kiss Bucky as a thank you, but he also didn’t want to be rude to Sam. So he just sent his gratitude to Bucky and reminded himself to thank him properly later.

“So, I’m noticing a lack of questions here — at least ones directed towards me,” Sam said, glancing between Steve and Bucky.

It was Steve’s turn to feel shock as he realized they hadn’t taken Sam into consideration when talking about turning him. One reason — for Steve at least — was that he assumed Sam didn’t want to be a werewolf. The whole concept and conversation had felt theoretical. But maybe that was a stupid assumption to make? He looked at Bucky uncertainly, then turned to Sam and said, “Do... Would you want that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Bucky asked before Sam could even draw breath to answer. “He’d be stronger and faster, with natural weapons, and he’d be one of us.”

“Buck, he might not _want_ to be one of us. And we still haven’t —” Steve shut his mouth before he made it sound like they’d been deciding whether to let Sam into some exclusive club, even if that was sort of the truth.

“But...” Bucky turned his frown on Sam. “You’re a soldier. And you like us.”

“I do like you both,” Sam said as if choosing his words with care, “but I got out of the Air Force a while back.”

Frowning even more, Bucky said, “You fought me, though. I remember that.”

“Yeah, I did. I damn near didn’t make it. You’re good.”

“I couldn’t kill you. That means you’re good, too,” Bucky said with a terrible sort of blunt logic. “You could be better.”

“This is _not_ a werewolf recruitment meeting, Sam, I swear. Buck, he’s allowed to say no. I don’t want a pack member that felt coerced.” Steve gestured with his spoon at the open freezer. “Get your ice cream and c’mere.”

“Considering that last week werewolves didn’t even exist, maybe you could give me a little more info on it first?” Sam suggested as Bucky swiped a pint of ice cream out of the freezer.

He shrugged and let the freezer door swing shut. “We’re stronger. Faster. We have claws and fangs. And we’re pack, so we’re never alone.”

Sighing at how much Bucky sounded like an advertisement, Steve added, “Our senses are heightened, and the wolf is always inside us, though I’m still not good at feeling it when in human form. And I can’t find my hybrid form at all, yet. Not that I need it.” He took another breath before saying, “The pack bond is... It makes us _really_ close. It means we know what the other is feeling, and can communicate on some levels without speech. And we know where the other is at all times. It makes troop movement seamless, though.”

He shrugged, knowing he’d failed to adequately describe how it felt to be connected to Bucky. How could he possibly get used to having that connection with someone he hadn’t known his whole life?

Bucky walked over to lean against him, absently tearing the lid off the fresh pint of ice cream. He was calm and content, relaxing even more as soon as their bodies touched. “The only reason I didn’t want to bite Steve at first was because I thought you’d all try to kill him. But nobody’s even tried, and he says you’re really not HYDRA...”

Steve leaned in to balance his weight against Bucky’s and rubbed his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder. He was finally able to let go of any remnants of stress from his talk with Tony and revel in being at home and safe. “The only reason I let him was for the connection. I don’t really need battle-form.” He turned his head to smile at Sam without moving away from Bucky.

“You two have something really special. You know that, right?” Sam asked softly, his smile full of warmth and approval.

“We always have, I think,” Bucky said, leaning harder against Steve so he could look around the countertop.

Realizing what Bucky wanted, Steve stole a bite of his ice cream, then handed the spoon over, mouth full of something intensely fudgy. It took him a second to talk around the cold lump melting on his tongue. “Helps that we’ve known each other for almost a century, but yeah. There’s never been anyone like him.”

Bucky used the spoon only for one bite of the ice cream. Then, with a self-satisfied smirk, he stuck the spoon back in Steve’s half-eaten pint. “We’re gonna need to get more flavors. Try them all,” he said, his voice slightly muffled as he stripped off his T-shirt.

“No, come on. Gimme another bite before you get wolf slobber all over it.” Steve turned his pleading look from Bucky to Sam, who was trying not to laugh out loud. “See what I mean? You want some before we have to literally throw it to the wolves?”

“Uh huh. I dare you to say no to him,” Sam teased, shaking his head and looking back down at his own ice cream — _not_ watching as Bucky dropped his pants. Instead, Sam held out his own pint for Steve, saying, “Hazelnut fudge. Try this.”

Steve switched pints with Bucky while he was tugging the pants off his feet, and held the chocolate one out to Sam as he dipped his spoon in the hazelnut. “I can’t. Say ‘no’, that is. It’s exasperating. But it’s nothing new...” Then, with his mouth full of Sam’s ice cream, he growled in contentment. “Oh, yes. That’s good, too.”

“It’s the little things,” Sam said, tipping his head to look past Steve as Bucky dropped to all fours, shifting into wolf form. “You know, there’s a whole drawer full of spoons. Are you _that_ lazy?”

Bucky barked in response, then nosed at Steve’s hand. “That’s a yes,” Steve said as he rolled his eyes and grinned at Sam. “You’re such a punk, Buck.” He took one more bite of the caramel pint, then dropped it on the floor in front of Bucky, who gave him a quick, open-mouthed grin. Then he extended his metal claws and stabbed them through the side of the pint, holding it in place.

“You get to mop that up,” Sam said as Bucky stuck his muzzle into the tub.

“He thinks you mean with his tongue, you know.” Steve chuckled at Sam’s disdainful nose crinkle. It was more adorable than disapproving. Bucky’s pleasure at devouring the ice cream filtered into Steve’s consciousness and it made his own pint seem to taste better. And somehow, being with the two of them felt more comforting than it had before. Maybe it was Bucky’s wolf-mind in Steve’s head that helped him let go of any human ‘complications’ as Bucky liked to call them, or maybe it was just being reminded of how good it felt to be around Sam.


	34. Chapter 34

The warm, heavy weight of Bucky’s body on top of Steve and the press of Sam’s shoulder against his were a comforting contrast to the tense mood on screen. Just moments before, the camaraderie between the astronauts had been almost relaxing, until one of them started choking, then went into a seizure. Steve had thought this was an alien monster movie, but was it a medical drama? The screams were loud enough to drown out the sound of Bucky crunching through the popcorn that Sam was feeding him one handful at a time —

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin as an alien tore through the man’s chest in a shower of blood. Bucky kicked and sat up, sending the popcorn flying, and Sam burst out laughing.

When Steve caught his breath he found he couldn’t maintain his glare at Sam. It melted into a smirk without his permission. “Why are we watching this again?”

“It’s a classic,” Sam said, leaning down to pick up the half-full bowl. “Down, mutt. You’re hell on popcorn.”

Bucky let out a dramatic huff and flopped back down, deliberately rolling onto his side. He wriggled and twisted until Steve’s hands were on his ribs, then insistently shoved his muzzle under Sam’s hand.

“I take it he was this demanding before he got fur?” Sam asked Steve.

“For attention, yes. For touch... not from me.” As he spoke, Steve remembered how much Bucky used to touch _him_ when they were young, before the serum. He was uncompromising about hugs, and they rarely walked down the street without Bucky’s arm around his shoulders. But Steve hadn’t ever touched Bucky. Not then. Not during the war, either. He must have known deep down that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Not even when Bucky didn’t touch him back until they’d fucked. Steve thanked the pack bond for reminding Bucky to touch him casually again, so that now it was at least somewhat even.

“So it’s not a werewolf thing. Good to know.” Sam scratched at Bucky’s throat, then tugged his ear, adding, “No sleeping. Watch the movie.”

Steve smirked at Bucky’s whine, then leaned slightly towards Sam and said, “To be fair, getting petted feels _really_ good, so it’s kind of a werewolf thing.”

“So what else is different?” Sam asked, smoothing a hand over Bucky’s fur. “Any regrets?”

“Not so far...” Steve’s smile at Sam went sour as he thought about Tony. “I might be a bit more aggressive and quick to anger, but I’m pretty sure Tony has always rubbed me the wrong way. And Nat’s upset, I think. She’s nervous around me, and that’s hard. We were just getting close.” He looked closely at Sam’s face as he continued, “I meant it that I’m not really in this for the werewolf part. Being in wolf form with him is actually really nice, but I don’t understand it all very well. Not yet, I guess.”

Because of the pack bond, Steve had a heartbeat’s warning before Bucky shifted into his hybrid form. He was too big to fit on the couch, but he didn’t let that stop him. “You still think like a human,” he told Steve as he shifted and tried to find a comfortable place on their laps. He ended up sprawled face-down across them, with his clawed feet hanging over one end and his head pillowed on the other arm.

“Of course I do. It’s been about two days. And I haven’t spent much of that time in wolf form.” Steve nudged Bucky in the ribs. “You’re too big like that.”

Bucky huffed and reached back to poke a claw at Steve’s arm. “Other way around. The couch is too small. And you stopped petting me.”

Sam tugged at Bucky’s metal arm until it was no longer digging into his gut. “You stopped watching the movie,” he grunted. “And you weigh, what, a few hundred pounds?”

“More, probably. _Steve,_ ” Bucky whined.

Holding his hands up as if in surrender, Steve let his Captain voice creep in. “Go back to wolf, and I’ll pet you ’til it’s my turn. You’re too big for _us_ — you’re crushing Sam. He’s a normal human, remember?”

“That’s not _my_ fault,” Bucky complained before he went back to wolf form, ending up splayed across the couch with his legs stretched out. He kicked at the arm of the couch, tearing the fabric, and finally got his hind legs folded under him.

Steve huffed in exasperation and scratched Bucky’s side as he muttered, “Stop. Enough of the pressure sale already.” Then he pressed his shoulder against Sam’s and said in an undertone, “I hope you don’t feel like we’re being pushy. Bucky doesn’t understand. And he wasn’t given a choice.”

Bucky lifted his head and took a deep breath. Steve felt him about to shift, but Sam tapped his muzzle, saying, “No. Wolf or skin.” When Bucky sighed and let his head flop back down, Sam grinned at Steve. “It’s fine. Hell, most times, it’s damn near impossible to get a vet to talk from the heart. All those years, we’re taught to hold back and compartmentalize. It’s nice to see someone who’s passionate about something.”

“Odd thing to be passionate about, I guess. I just don’t want you to feel like, if you choose not to, that we’ll keep trying to convince you or something. Wear you down. I won’t have that.” Steve grabbed hold of the scruff of Bucky’s neck and tugged on it. “All right?”

With another huff, Bucky wagged his tail and whined. Steve took that as assent, even though he didn’t feel a hint of guilt from Bucky.

“It’s all right,” Sam said gently. “And don’t think I’m not flattered. You two are way outta my league, I know.”

“Your what?” Steve turned away from Bucky to frown at Sam. Was he talking about weight class or something else? He certainly couldn't mean what it sounded like.

Sam laughed and ruffled Bucky’s ears. “I grew up reading comic books about Captain America and his Howling Commandos. Me, I’m just a normal guy.”

“Don’t, Sam. That’s not fair. To any of us. ’Cause you’re _far_ from normal. It’s not just anyone who wouldn’t even blink when Captain America showed up at their back door needing help. You helped me save a million lives last week.” Bucky’s tail wagged hard, and Steve grinned at the approval that flowed into him.

Sam looked away as though embarrassed. “What was I supposed to do? Say no to Captain America? I’d lose my VA benefits — at least before you were a wanted fugitive.”

Steve’s grin took on a sharp edge, but he knew the answer to this one too. “Sure, but you didn’t have to be kind to the werewolf that had torn up your house afterwards. He was supposed to be the enemy.”

“I was wrong about him.” Sam looked over at Steve and met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Steve frowned in incomprehension before remembering his conversation with Sam. _The kind you stop._ He reached out to touch Sam’s arm, saying, “You didn’t know him. You couldn’t have known he was savable. By all accounts he shouldn’t have been.”

“But you knew. I should’ve followed your lead.”

“I didn’t. I was just ready to die alongside him.” Bucky let out a huff, and his exasperation echoed in Steve’s head. “Like I’ve always been.” Steve shook his head, words lost. His connection to Bucky had always been deep. The pack bond just highlighted it.

“Yeah, well... From now on, I’ll just follow your lead.” Then Sam grinned down at Bucky and tugged on his ear, clarifying, “ _Steve’s_ lead. If I followed you, I’d end up fat and in a sugar coma.”

With another huff, Bucky looked back at Steve and rolled his eyes — a ridiculous thing to see, on a wolf. It made Steve chuckle and rub Bucky’s back.

“Well, this decision is all yours, Sam. And whatever you choose, you’re still ours. I mean, still on our team.” Steve winced and glanced sheepishly at Sam, then turned back to the movie — not that he had any idea what was happening in it.

Sam’s eyes narrowed speculatively, and he looked from Bucky to Steve, head tilted. “Tomorrow morning, the track two floors down.”

Steve nodded, eyes wide. He had no idea what Sam had in mind, but he was more than happy to show up and find out. “Whatever you want.”

 

~~~

 

“Out, both of you,” Sam said, laughing as he herded the two werewolves out into the hallway. “I want a shower without fur clogging the drain and a good night’s sleep with a blanket that’s not torn to shreds. You can come by to pick up your clothes in the morning. And start wearing saddlebags, if you’re gonna be stripping everywhere you go.”

Steve huffed a wolfish laugh and nosed Sam’s hand, then looked him in the eye to make sure he’d be able to fall asleep without them. Sam ruffled Steve’s ears, then Bucky’s — and then, still grinning — stepped back and firmly closed the apartment door.

Bucky turned and looked at Steve, and though he didn’t move, Steve sensed a shrug in the way his fur rippled. Together, they padded down the hallway to their apartment, at which point Steve realized they couldn’t open the door without talking to JARVIS. And that meant changing into human form. In public space.

He looked down the hall to make sure it was empty, then reached for the doorknob to bring himself back to human. The door was locked, but he was certain it had nothing to do with Tony. The apology had mostly worked. “JARVIS? Can you let us in please?”

“My pleasure, Captain,” JARVIS answered as the door unlatched.

“Thank —” Steve cut off with a very undignified squeak as Bucky nosed the top of his thigh — a wolfy version of a pinch on the ass. He felt Bucky’s laughter at Steve’s reaction to the cold wet touch, but Steve himself wasn’t amused. Or at least he didn’t want to show it. He grabbed Bucky’s scruff and hauled him inside, then growled, “Unfair,” before shifting back and tackling him onto the floor.

They filled the apartment with mock-fierce growls and sharp, high barks as they tore through the remains of the ruined carpet — fortunately not yet replaced — and rolled from the doorway to the far wall and back before they ended up in a heap, panting and tangled together. Radiating contentment, Bucky twisted onto his back and curled his body around Steve’s, tongue lolling out.

All Steve had in him was love and contentment, half of it coming from Bucky. He licked Bucky’s neck then nosed at his jaw and bit gently under it. Bucky growled — the closest a wolf could come to a groan — and thumped his tail against the floor. Lust shot through Steve, and he wanted to hear Bucky make more noises, to get his hands on Bucky’s skin. He shifted and dug his fingers into Bucky’s neck fur, saying, “C’mere, babe.”

Bucky rolled into him and shifted, and he found himself practically strangling Bucky’s bare throat. Steve jerked his hands away, and Bucky laughingly took advantage to tackle Steve onto his back. “You want something?” he asked, looking down at Steve with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You know I do.” Steve tugged Bucky’s shoulder to bring him close enough for a kiss. He complied eagerly, shifting his hips and getting one leg between Steve’s.

“Here?” Bucky asked, pulling back so his lips just brushed against Steve’s. “Or in the bed? Or the shower?”

“Mmm... Your choice.” Steve pressed up into Bucky’s body and caught his lips for another kiss, arms snaking around his bare waist to hold him close.

“Both. I got a lot of catching up to do,” Bucky murmured into the kiss. “Besides, the showers here are fantastic.”

Still solidly pinned under an unmoving Bucky, Steve bared his neck and snarked, “After you then, since you weigh a ton. Must be all that ice cream.”

Bucky let out a credible growl, even in human form, and pushed up onto all fours. “If you don’t like what you see, I can go somewhere else,” he threatened, his voice at odds with the amusement ringing in his mind.

“Never said you weren’t gorgeous, just that I’m not gonna try and lift you.” Steve sat up and kissed Bucky’s shoulder. “Shower then bed?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s grin had a feral edge. “Good plan, Cap.”

The nickname caught in Steve’s throat before he could repeat it. “Cap?” He held his breath, hoping Bucky was actually remembering things, not reinventing the wheel.

Confusion rippled through the amusement. Bucky blinked a couple of times, then slowly frowned. “Yeah? That’s — That’s what we called you, wasn’t it?”

Relief flowed through Steve and had him grinning wide, both from pleasure and to reassure Bucky. “Yeah. Feels good to hear you say it again. Tony said your brain would heal fast, but I...” He shook his head. He hadn’t wanted to hope too much, in case it wasn’t true. “I’m glad he was right.”

“Heal what I forgot?” Bucky asked hopefully. “Everything?”

The idea of Bucky remembering _everything_ was terrifying to Steve. In war, there were some things better left forgotten, and Bucky had been at war for seventy years. Steve cupped Bucky’s jaw with one hand. “I dunno, babe. Depends on the damage, I think. We can ask him, if you want. He still wants that look at your arm...” He managed to keep his anxiety at bay as he spoke, but only by sheer force of will.

Not that it helped, judging by the way Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What? What’s wrong with my arm? It’s _mine_ ,” he said, anxiety spiking through him as he sat back on Steve’s legs, pulling his left arm protectively close.

_Shit._

“Nothing’s wrong with it. Tony just needs to figure out how it works so if something does go wrong, he can fix it.” Steve rested his hands on Bucky’s hips, rubbing his thumbs back and forth, soothingly. “And I’ve been very clear about how respectful he needs to be of it. And you. It’ll be fine. I’ll be right there.”

Slowly, Bucky’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay. I didn’t —” His frown deepened. “It was... It caused problems with techs, when I’d get confused.”

That was worrisome — and the exact thing that had Steve so freaked out about this whole idea. Not to mention it was what Tony completely failed to understand. “Yeah, it’s okay honey. We’ll figure out how to make you feel really safe before he does anything. All right? And I’ll be right there with you. Sam can come, too, if it’d help.” Steve kept his voice as calm and soothing as possible, his hands never leaving Bucky’s body as they rubbed his back and sides.

“Yeah.” Bucky took a deep breath. “Okay, yeah. Maybe Natasha, too. She’s the best shot out of all of you.”

Shock ran through Steve at the implication. “No. _No,_ Buck. We will _not_ have any guns trained on you when you need to feel safe. That’s...” He shook his head. “If you want Nat there, that’s fine, but she’ll be unarmed. And I can be touching you the whole time. Tony will work around that if he has to. If you need to shift or lash out, I’ll be right there.”

“What if I hurt someone?” Bucky asked worriedly. “I get confused, and I’m too strong. What if I _bite_ someone?”

“It’ll be _me,_ babe. I promise I won’t let you hurt anyone else. And if you get confused, I can remind you, ’cause we’re pack.” Steve demonstrated by sending as much calm reassurance as he could to Bucky, who started to breathe easier almost at once.

“Not alone,” Bucky murmured, wrapping his arms around Steve to hold him close.

Steve held on tightly, his face against Bucky’s neck as he breathed, “Never again.”


	35. Chapter 35

“Why Sam?” Steve couldn’t help but ask Bucky as they got in the elevator to head down to the track. He was almost entirely over his worry about what would change if Sam became pack, and as long as Sam wanted it, he was okay with it, but he still didn’t really understand it.

“‘Why Sam’ what?” Bucky asked, smoothing his hair back for the fifth time since they’d left the apartment. After waking up, they’d had a shower that had turned into something much more intimate, and JARVIS had interrupted to remind them of their meeting at the track before Bucky’s hair had dried. He’d been fussing with it ever since — another old habit Steve remembered fondly.

“It looks perfect and you know it,” Steve murmured, as he took hold of Bucky’s hand. He never thought he’d say it, but right then, he missed the smell of brylcreem. “Why do you want him as pack?”

Bucky frowned as if wondering why Steve would even ask — a sentiment echoed by the puzzlement Steve could feel from him. “We like him, and he likes us. He’s got great hands. He’s gorgeous. And he’s not scared of us, so he even smells good.”

Smiling at the simplicity of Bucky’s thought process, Steve started to let a quip fall from his lips when something else about Bucky’s reasoning came to mind. “Those are reasons to fuck him, not have him as one of us. Forever.”

“But I’d still like him after,” Bucky protested. “And _you_ like him, too.”

“I never said I didn’t, but I’m not lobbying to bite him. What’s the difference between a fuck buddy and pack? And why do you want one over the other?” Steve tugged Bucky close so he could banish the worry that crept up in him.

Bucky leaned back and dropped his hands to Steve’s waist so he could bring their hips together. Their sweatpants weren’t nearly enough to separate their bodies. “I dunno. You and Sam are the first people I’ve _wanted_ to fuck in... forever.”

The fact that Steve didn’t get stabbed with jealousy at that statement might have had something to do with being able to feel how much Bucky wanted him right then. It was scrambling his brain somewhat. But he took his acceptance of the idea as a good sign nonetheless. As long as Bucky still wanted _him,_ it almost didn’t matter if he wanted anyone else as well.

“I’m not letting you fuck me in the elevator, pup.” Steve sounded stern, but he leaned in for a kiss as he spoke.

“Then you can fuck me,” Bucky hinted in a heated whisper. “You’re real good at that.”

Steve diverted his mouth to Bucky’s shoulder and groaned, trying desperately not to grind his hips against Bucky’s. “God dammit, Buck. We have to meet Sam _right now._ I’ll fuck you later. After we see Tony.”

“Promise?” Bucky asked with a little whine in his voice — one that was at odds with how smug he felt.

“Yes. Hard. And so slow you beg for it.” Steve grinned as the smugness fell away, replaced by raw lust.

“You were — Weren’t you always all _nice_?” This time, Bucky’s voice was rough and breathless.

“I called you names and rolled my eyes at you and got into fights that you had to get me out of. I dunno who you’re remembering, but I doubt it was me.” Steve whispered in Bucky’s ear, then took the lobe between his teeth and tugged.

Bucky’s quiet whine was almost lost under the deliberate sound of Sam clearing his throat before saying, “You guys need to go back upstairs?”

Steve jumped away from Bucky, his face flushing hot. “No, sorry. It’s my fault we’re late. I...” He wasn’t about to tell Sam it was because he’d taken his time learning exactly how Bucky liked his cock sucked. He ran his hand through his hair and changed the subject. “What was it you wanted?”

“We haven’t had our morning run in about a week. I figure Bucky could kick your ass on my behalf,” Sam said, glancing away from the two of them. “Or you could just go back up to your room, if you’re busy.”

Distracted by trying to surreptitiously shift himself in his pants, Steve accidentally let too much information slip as he answered, “We’ve already been busy this morning, so a run sounds good. Though I forgot to mention last night that werewolves are _really_ fast.”

“At, uh, _everything_?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised high.

In for a penny, in for a pound... “Not if I have anything to say about it...” Steve turned away from Sam to look at Bucky with a wicked grin on his face.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, slowly grinning. He slid his hands up to Steve’s shoulders, then pushed Steve back and to the side. Steve’s back hit the elevator wall — and thankfully it was unfinished, because the handrail wasn’t there to dig into him. Bucky leaned in and bit Steve’s throat, then dropped one hand down, fingertips sliding into Steve’s waistband.

“Jesus, Buck.” For a moment, Steve forgot to be embarrassed, and he almost let Bucky’s hand cup him before his eyes fluttered open and he saw Sam had politely turned his back. “Stop. Not here. Sam doesn’t want...”

“Yeah, he does. Can’t you smell him?” Bucky murmured between bites and licks under Steve’s jaw.

Steve had only recently learned how Bucky’s scent shifted when he was aroused, but now that Bucky mentioned it in the moment, he noticed another level of spicy musk to Sam’s scent. It made Steve catch his breath with want. “That’s not fair. Just because his body reacts...” He took firm hold of Bucky’s shoulders and pushed him a foot away. “He didn’t ask us here for a show.”

“Sam?” Bucky asked, turning to look out into the hallway. “You can come back now.”

“It’s no problem,” Sam called. He sounded like he was right outside the elevator, just out of line-of-sight. “You’re on your honeymoon, sort of.”

“No, it’s rude, and I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” Steve had to catch his breath against the combined smell of Bucky’s and Sam’s arousal. It was a heady combination. He exited the elevator with a sheepish smile and sneezed to clear his nose.

“I’m happy for you,” Sam said with a smile of his own. He clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and added, “Both of you. No hiding, Bucky. C’mon out.”

“I’m not hiding,” Bucky said from the elevator. “I’m getting rid of these damned pants.”

Steve actually facepalmed, and he hoped to God it was because Bucky wanted to shift and for not any other reason. “I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t take him anywhere.” He knew the pleading look on his face was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it, until the whole situation made him laugh.

Sam patted Steve’s shoulder, snickering. “You couldn’t have had a more manageable friend, like a dragon?”

“Are _those_ real?” Bucky asked from the elevator.

“At this point, anything’s possible.” Steve moved past Sam towards the door marked ‘track’ and started to stretch his legs. A run would burn off all the excess energy that he had from getting bombarded with pheromones.

“Let’s hope not,” Sam said fervently. “And you might as well strip, too. I’m betting you ten bucks Bucky can outrun you in wolf form, Mister ‘On Your Left’.”

Did Sam have any idea how wide Steve’s competitive streak was? Probably. But he was able to not charge at the red cape just because it dangled in front of him. At least not _that_ one. “You sure you didn’t just want an excuse to get us naked and sweaty?”

With Sam’s dark skin, it was impossible to see a blush, but Steve smelled the resurgence of arousal and interest. “You...” Sam accused, pointing at him. “You were _not_ always like this. Was he always like this, Bucky?”

Bucky let out a bark in answer, and he trotted out of the elevator, metal claws clicking before he reached the carpeted hallway. He wagged his tail and grinned smugly at both of them.

“He’s right. It’s his bad influence from the very beginning that made me like this.” Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky and then looked contritely at Sam. “That and I guess the wolf is trying to take over this morning. If it’s making you uncomfortable...” He gestured vaguely with his free hand at the elevator.

“It’s fine,” Sam said with a wave of his own. “But really, if you two want to go get some privacy, it’s fine. God knows you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Not sure Bucky _wants_ privacy, to be honest. Especially if you’re gonna be pack. But thanks.” As soon as Steve registered what he’d said, he backpedaled — literally — jogging backwards to the door into the track.

“Steve. Hey,” Sam called as Steve turned to reach for the door handle. He stopped still to listen, but couldn’t make himself turn around just yet. “Let’s just clear this up now. I like you both, and I’m here as long as you need me, but I don’t think I could be one of you.”

Bucky’s disappointment washed over Steve and made it hard to parse his own feelings about Sam’s statement. “Okay.” He managed to turn around and look at Sam to say, “Of course that’s fine. Totally your choice. But we still want you around. A lot. You’re so good with him.” His gaze dropped to Bucky, whose ears and tail were drooping.

Sam glanced down at him, saying, “You two are so obviously in love, it’s like the whole world disappears when you’re together. I _like_ you both, but I don’t know you — not the way you know each other. And with everything that’s going on, you don’t need to be worrying about some complete stranger.”

“I knew by the second time we hung out you’re a good man, Sam — one who’s trustworthy. One I’d go into battle with. Not sure there’s anything more to it than that.” Steve wasn’t sure if he was trying to change Sam’s mind or just making it clear how he felt. If there was anyone Steve could feel okay about being another member of the pack, it was Sam. It had always been Sam. Steve took a deep breath, then stepped forward and held out his hand.

Smiling, Sam took Steve’s hand, then pulled him into a one-armed hug. “I’m here, as long as you two need me,” he promised. “And I’m not saying ‘never’. Let’s just get you two squared away first.”

Holding Sam close for a few seconds, Steve couldn’t help grin at the exasperation that filtered over from Bucky. The wolf had no patience with humanity’s desire to wait — not when _eventually_ was the obvious outcome. _Right now_ was as good a time as any. “Thanks, Sam. Does that mean you’ll help me take Bucky to Tony’s workshop for his arm exam?”

Sam turned and crouched just enough to be at Bucky’s eye-level. “That what you want?”

Bucky let out a dramatic sigh, wagged his tail, and then bowled Sam over so he could climb onto Sam’s lap and lick his face. Laughing, Sam allowed the assault, ruffling his hands through Bucky’s fur.

Chuckling at the obvious warmth and affection between them, Steve said, “See? I told you we want you, Sam.”

Sam got a double-handful of Bucky’s fur and tugged him back, then wiped his face on his upper arm to get rid of the wolf-slobber. “Yeah, well, nobody’s getting _anything_ like this. Get off me, mutt. Kick your boyfriend’s ass in a race, and we’ll talk about breakfast.”

“We doing this in fur?” Steve tugged off his shirt as he asked, already feeling in him the prick of Bucky’s desire to run. He kicked off his shoes and crouched down to let the wolf out and shake off his sweatpants. He barked happily and nosed at Sam’s armpit until an arm was draped over his back. Then he pawed at Bucky to get his attention and whined impatiently.

With one last lick from Sam’s jaw to his hairline, Bucky backed away, baring his fangs in a ferocious grin. Sam got back to his feet, using the wall as a prop, wary of being knocked down again.

“Winner gets a double-helping of sausage and grits,” he offered, circling around them to get the door.

Steve snapped playfully at Bucky and beat him through the opening, then trotted over to the starting line. He dropped his chest to the floor, front paws out, and barked, tail wagging.

“Now, don’t you two go running so damn fast you can’t take corners,” Sam warned, following Bucky. “The track goes around the whole edge of this floor, and I don’t know if those windows can take a hit.”

Steve lunged at Bucky, who rose up on his hind legs, and they crashed together, biting at each other’s muzzle. It looked fierce and dangerous, Steve knew, but this sort of play was instinctive and gratifying. When they both hit the floor again, Steve nipped at Bucky’s ear, then went back to the starting line.

“Just to be clear,” Sam said as he stepped up beside them, “I am _not_ racing you two. Either of you makes this a competition with me or trips me up, I’m dumping cayenne pepper in your food.” Steve’s innocent whine made Sam roll his eyes, unimpressed. Laughing, Sam ruffled Steve’s fur, then Bucky’s. “On your mark. Get set. _Go!_ ”

Steve launched himself into a full-speed run at Sam’s word, reveling in the simple thrill. As a wolf, he wanted nothing more than to play with his packmate, and he lost any need to win. All he cared about was his joy at being able to tear around the track _with Bucky_. And by the silent, wolfish laughter that echoed through their bond, Bucky felt the same way.


	36. Chapter 36

Steve was happy to hand over the ten dollars to Sam, then offered to help cook breakfast. He suspected the race would have been closer in human form, but Bucky had decades of experience in dealing with four legs instead of two. But it didn’t matter. Everything in Steve was loosened up and free, even in his skin, and sharing the elevator back up to their rooms felt easy and comfortable. Sam’s laugh was warm and ready, Bucky was smiling and cuddly, and Steve wanted to bottle their camaraderie and keep it for moments of self-doubt, because this is what it felt like to belong.

The feeling persisted all through an excellent breakfast, including the promised extra helpings of sausage and grits for Bucky. With a wolfish sort of acceptance, Steve didn’t even feel uncomfortable about Sam’s earlier refusal to become a part of their pack. Sam was Sam, whether he had skin or fur, and it was obvious that he cared about them, pack or not.

So Steve felt completely comfortable saying, “We should go to Tony’s workshop. And we want you with us. Will you come?”

Sam glanced at Bucky, who nodded, adding, “Yeah. What he said.”

With a laugh, Sam shrugged. “Sure, but I’m unarmed. This isn’t a hit, right?” he teased.

Remembering Bucky’s comment about how Nat should have a gun on him, Steve’s brow furrowed. He looked at Bucky and sent him reassurance. “No. Everyone’s going to come away from this _just fine._ ” Turning to Sam, he added, “It’s just so Tony can get a look at Bucky’s arm. But we’re going to make sure everyone feels safe while he does.”

“It’ll be fine, with the two of us there,” Sam said with quiet certainty. “The security briefing went all right, didn’t it?”

“You don’t have the same history of doing stupid shit as Steve does, do you?” Bucky asked, eyeing Sam. “’Cause I don’t remember _everything_ , but I remember a whole lot more of stupid from him than any one person should be able to find.”

“Look, I’m not suiting up for this. And I’ve already gotten the stupid out of my system with Tony. _And_ ” — Steve gestured at Sam — “you know that guy flies around on _wings_ strapped to his back, right?”

“And I’m damn good at it,” Sam added.

“But I broke your wings, didn’t I?” Bucky asked, frowning over at Sam. “I ripped one off. We talked about this, didn’t we?”

Sam nodded, his expression going softly sympathetic. “Yeah. But it’s okay. I told you that, too.”

Bucky’s frown smoothed out, and he looked back at Steve. “At least he _had_ wings. You jump out of planes without a parachute.”

“Into the _ocean._ And anyway, the shield breaks my fall. It’s vibranium.” Steve wanted to look sheepish, but a sadness overtook him as he thought about his recklessness and how it was due to not caring whether he survived.

Bucky’s frown returned, and he reached out to touch Steve’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Steve kissed Bucky’s fingertips and shook his head, saying softly, “I wouldn’t do that anymore. It didn’t matter before; now it does.”

“Yeah, well. I better not catch you doing that anymore,” Bucky said, a hint of a growl creeping into his voice.

“Tell me about it,” Sam added, leaning over to look past Bucky at Steve. “I’m the one who’d be scraping your furry ass off the pavement.”

“Won’t happen. I’ve got both of you watching my back, don’t I?” Steve rose and stood between them, and hand on each of their shoulders. “Just like Bucky’s got both of us right now. Come on.”

 

~~~

 

“Yeah, but can you do it _without_ killing anyone?” Tony asked, then flinched inwardly as he realized how antagonistic that sounded.

Natasha turned a flat glare on him. It looked less intimidating than usual, but only because she was in a smart suit — one more appropriate for her age than the one she’d last worn in D.C. — and not her battle-suit. “I’ve testified before tougher committees.”

“Okay. My team should already be on the jet —”

“I’d rather take the quinjet,” she said for about the fiftieth time.

“Let’s not put you in an armed fighter when you’re going there to soothe their fears, okay? That’s something I would do.”

Her mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. “Right. I know how to be subtle.”

“Yes, but you’re _not_ bringing poison. Are you?”

“Not your concern. And if Clint gets here...”

“I’ll tell him. Go. Happy’s probably double parked,” he lied, shooing her towards the elevator. The doors opened as they approached, and Tony drew breath to thank JARVIS, only to see his two problem werewolves and the only sane guy in the building — Sam Wilson — inside. And JARVIS hadn’t warned him. So much for the computer being helpful.

“Hey,” Natasha said, her voice neutral, though Tony caught a hint of something when she met Sam’s eyes.

Smiling, Sam led the way out of the elevator. “Hey, Natasha. Going out?”

She hummed and stepped to the side so everyone could pass. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” It sounded like a hint.

“Yeah? What do you say I cook you dinner?”

Instead of gutting him on the spot, she raised an eyebrow. “You can cook?”

“Sure can. Ask those two,” he said, pointing at the Furry Twins.

Steve looked like he had a thousand things to say to Nat, but he simply nodded his head and said, “It’s true. He's good at dinner _and_ breakfast.”

Tony had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Whether Steve was actually fucking Bucky _and_ Sam or not didn’t matter; according to JARVIS’ security records, he was _sleeping_ with them both. Close enough.

Natasha let the moment pass, much to Tony’s disappointment. She just nodded and wryly said, “I’ll keep it in mind,” as she slipped past them and into the elevator.

Steve watched her exit with not a little chagrin, then turned to Tony and said, “Where’s she headed? Does she need backup?”

“Nope. Besides, _you_ have an interview with _Time_ magazine first thing tomorrow morning. Casual, chat-in-a-coffee-shop sort of thing.” Tony headed back towards his workshop.

“You’re not serious. Tony... What about?” Steve’s shocked voice got closer as he followed right behind Tony.

“How you stopped HYDRA from taking over the world — including how you were wrongly put on the Most Wanted list. The reporter’s on our side. Big fan. You’re doing her nephew’s birthday party in six months, too.” The workshop doors opened, and Tony headed right for the scanner in the corner. He usually used it to troubleshoot his drones, but it would do nicely for that arm, and it didn’t have any flesh-eating radioactive side effects that he knew of.

“Okay. Fine. But I’m not answering questions about anything personal.” Steve stopped just inside the workshop and looked back at Bucky and Sam, who’d probably stopped to have a word with Natasha. Tony had caught Sam eyeing Natasha, but was Bucky, too? _While_ he was dating Steve?

Christ, the Tower had become a fucking soap opera. Pepper would kill all of them.

Before Tony could think of doing something stupid, like turning it into a reality TV show for publicity, he focused his attention on the scanner. “Light ’er up, JARVIS,” he said, reaching into thin air to pull up the control holograms. Quick stabs of his finger selected exactly what he wanted to scan for — everything, to start, at least in a broad sense. He’d narrow things down once he figured out how to get through the external plating. The passive scans had yielded no useful information.

“Bucky?” Steve’s worried tone made Tony turn. Bucky was standing halfway across the workshop, dangerously close to the central console, eyes fixed on the reclining desk chair that Tony had put under the scanner, figuring it would be less intimidating than the workshop table with its armatures and jointed projections meant to hold up a half-assembled drone.

“Is this a memory wipe?” Bucky asked in a voice so toneless and dull that it gave Tony chills.

“No, babe. No. Tony wouldn’t do that.” Steve's eyes held panic, but his voice was soothing and he walked over to touch Bucky's face with such gentleness Tony felt like he should look away. “I promise no one will ever do that to you again. And Tony’s gonna explain what he's doing so we are all aware and everyone feels safe.” There was just a hint of a hard edge to Steve’s voice, as if to let Tony know that was an order, not a suggestion.

How the hell was Tony going to dumb things down to a 1940s level of science? All too clearly, he remembered Steve’s words: _“It seems to run on some form of electricity.”_ Well, Tony had faked enough details for investors and idiot politicians. He could snowball a relic, even if that relic was a werewolf assassin.

“Passive scan only,” Tony began, flicking at the holograms that turned on the visible spectrum lights. “I won’t interfere with whatever... memory chips are in the arm.” Not with the first scan, at any rate, but Bucky didn’t have to know that. If the arm contained any sort of microprocessors, Tony would have to dig into the programming and make sure it was all benign. Later.

“See? Simple. Why don’t you come sit down? I’ll be right next to you the whole time.” Steve coaxed Bucky over to the chair. Instead of getting Bucky to sit down, though, Steve stepped back as if waiting for Bucky to decide he was ready or safe.

“He can’t have it,” Bucky said almost too softly for Tony to hear.

“Have what, babe? Your arm?” Steve’s voice went sharp in alarm for just a moment. He shot a worried glance at Tony — one devoid of suspicion at least — then put his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and said, “No, Buck. It’s _your_ body. He just wants to look at it. I promise.”

Tony’s gut went cold as he realized Bucky _expected_ him to just rip off the arm. He swallowed, remembering the sharp, almost inaudible sound of the Sonic Taser that paralyzed him. He had to turn away and fiddle unnecessarily with the hologram just to get back his voice.

“Barnes. You had a file on me,” he said as he cycled through various program options without really looking. “You know about the arc reactor I used to have.”

After a few seconds, Bucky said, “Yeah?”

“The first arc reactor was flawed design. I upgraded it pretty quickly.” Tony turned just enough to point to the shadowbox on the wall. In a fit of black humor, he’d had the thing re-mounted on a display stand with a hammer and a plaque reading: _In case of emergency, break glass._ He turned back to the hologram and went back to swiping at the shorthand of letters and symbols. “I only had the upgrade for a little while before it was taken.”

Another short pause came before Steve said, in a very cautious voice, “What do you mean, ‘taken’? Wouldn’t you have died without it?”

Tony’s nod was jerky despite his best efforts to keep his composure. “Yeah, that didn’t really matter, though. Not to the guy who took it.”

“Shit.” It was more like an exhale of breath than a word. Tony heard Steve step up behind him. “Tony, I’m sorry...”

“It’s all good now,” Tony said, rubbing a hand over the scar tissue that the doctors hadn’t been able to fully remove. “Bruce hooked me up with some docs who were able to get all the shrapnel out. Rebuilt my heart, good as new.”

“This wasn’t in your records,” Bucky said.

Tony’s grunt was just a little self-satisfied. Fury — and therefore both S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA — didn’t know everything after all. “It was Obadiah Stane. Sort of a surrogate father for years, until he spent a couple hours trying to kill me, starting with when he ripped the arc reactor out of my chest.” He turned to look at Bucky — and tried _not_ to look at Steve, because he had a sinking feeling Steve would be giving him a puppy-dog-look full of sympathy, and Tony _hated_ sympathy. Safer to look back at the hologram, so he did. “Nobody’s taking your arm. Not unless it’s _your_ choice.”

Tony felt Steve’s hand land on his shoulder and squeeze for just a moment. When he risked a glance, Steve’s eyes were downcast, mouth drawn into a tight line. They shared just a moment of silence before he turned away from Tony to look at Bucky. Again, some sort of unspoken communication happened between them before Steve nodded. “Your body, your choice, Buck.”

“All right.” It came out a rough, low near-whisper, but that was enough to reassure Steve, judging by how his shoulders relaxed. Bucky slipped past Steve and sat down under the scanner. The chair’s hydraulics hissed in protest — he was probably heavier than he looked — and Bucky’s hands clenched around the ends of the chair arms, puncturing the padded leather as his claws slid free.

“No worries,” Tony said dismissively as Bucky jerked his hands back up. “If it’s in the workshop, it’s meant to get destroyed eventually.” He glanced over at Steve, wondering if the newer werewolf could keep the older, more experienced, cybernetic one in check if things got ugly. “Think you can help him stay relaxed?”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Steve crouched down by Bucky’s right side and guided the flesh hand back onto the arm of the chair. “Okay, Buck? Want Sam too?”

Instead of answering outright, Bucky looked at Tony long enough for him to wonder if he was going to end up the werewolves’ next meal. Then Bucky shook his head and quietly answered, “Only if he wants. Is this gonna be loud or something?”

“Not unless you want me to sing,” Tony answered, breathing a bit easier. Steve seemed more tense than Bucky, who actually laughed.

Steve turned to the door, where Sam had been lurking, and calmly said, “Sam, a little help?” Tony wasn’t sure if he was asking for himself or for Bucky.

Sam walked over, eyeing the scanner’s various parts with interest as he rested a casual hand on Steve’s shoulder. “So, what is this thing, exactly?”

Tony thought back to what he’d read of Sam Wilson’s file. He’d had enough medical training to be familiar with the science to at least some degree. “It’s like an MRI and X-ray, only a whole lot more. Which brings us to step one,” Tony said, dragging his fingers through the light to get the scanners moving. The motors were almost perfectly silent, but Bucky and Steve both reacted at once, eyes locking to the armature as it moved into place over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Hey. Be glad it’s not a traditional MRI,” Sam said, giving Bucky an encouraging smile. “Those things are loud and hell on anyone with claustrophobia.”

Tony snorted derisively. “Please. Those things are primitive compared to this. They’d never get through the arm’s plating, for one. I’d need a sample to do a better analysis — and no, I’m not asking,” he added before either werewolf could speak up. “If the scanner can’t get through, do the plates move aside? Maybe for maintenance?”

Steve’s eyes lit up in recognition, but he kept his mouth shut and looked to Bucky for a response. Bucky nodded and pulled his clawed metal fingers out of the chair arm, then used his other hand to start opening plates. Tony had to flatten his hands against the nearest armature to keep from grabbing. Wires, possible tubes or conduits, an icy blue glow that looked all too familiar...

 _The Tesseract,_ he thought, looking up at Steve.

The blue eyes that met his gaze widened in fear, and Steve nodded. “HYDRA did it, too, way before Fury did. They used the cube to give their weapons power.” He looked over at his boyfriend worriedly. “Bucky was their most valuable weapon.”

Tony nodded, brain kicking back into gear as he thought about the HYDRA weapons files JARVIS had swiped for him. “Okay. Okay —”

“It can’t be disrupted,” Bucky said. “It won’t short out. Only the signal routing wires can be disrupted.”

Steve winced, hand clutching at Bucky’s knee. “And what happens then, exactly?”

Bucky frowned at him and shrugged. “The signals reroute,” he said, as if that should be obvious. “It happened when Natasha hit me with one of her Taser Disks.”

“So... It only goes offline for a minute? Does it hurt?”

Tony could’ve answered, based solely on where the micro-wires plugged into Bucky’s spine and brain, but he was too caught up in deciphering the tech. How the hell had they managed to hook the arm up without frying Bucky’s brain?

It had to be the serum. His father’s notes made it pretty clear that the super-soldier serum would restore Steve to a default setting, so to speak, at a cellular level. And while Tony didn’t have the details about Arnim Zola’s experimentation on Bucky, he could make a couple of educated guesses. Hell, back in DC only a few days ago, Bucky looked like he’d been through a war zone. Now, there was no sign at all — not a single bruise or cut.

“No pain sensors,” Bucky answered, saving Tony the trouble. “It’s safer that way. Otherwise, you would’ve knocked me out when you tried to break it with the edge of the shield.”

Tony could hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he said, “Even before we were linked you could catch it though. And you can feel things, right?”

“Pressure, temperature, texture in some spots — fingertips, mostly. The palm’s got sensors for electromagnetic radiation so I can feel things like alarm system components.”

“You’re talking like it’s all mechanical,” Sam said. “How come it can shift with the rest of you? I mean, the _mass_ has to change between your three forms.”

“The Tesseract,” Tony said, remembering the _clink_ of Loki’s staff against his arc reactor. He’d felt _something_ — a surge of power, maybe — but the arc reactor had diffused it into nothingness. Tony hadn’t thought about that for a long time, thanks to a few nights of heavy drinking, but now it all came back. “It’s because of the _type_ of power. It’s like AC versus DC.”

“What?” Steve asked, sounding puzzled. Tony glanced at him through the holograms and saw the way he and Sam were exchanging frowns.

“That arm doesn’t work on electricity,” Tony said. “Not alternating current, like plugging it into a wall, and not battery power. It’s something else.”

“It’s more like nerve signals than power,” Bucky said.

Tony nodded, seeing how he could turn that power into a living metal suit, something fused with him at a cellular level. Smaller, even. Molecular. “Shift,” he said, waving a hand at Bucky as he focused the scanners on Bucky’s fingers. “Do that thing with the claws.”

“This is close to T3 level stuff,” Sam observed.

“Is that a reference I’m not gonna get?” Steve looked over at Sam but didn’t let go of both Bucky’s knee and his flesh arm.

“Terminator? Aw, man,” Sam said, shaking his head sadly. “We’re going to have to have another movie night.”

“Nights, plural,” Tony corrected, pulling a 3-D model of Bucky’s control system out of the hologram. He set it aside, then went for the mechanical sub-structure. The elbow joint was a thing of beauty. “Seventy years of catching up to do. Claws in, Bucky. I want — _Aha_ ,” he breathed, seeing the surge of non-visible-spectrum power that went _through_ the metal. It didn’t register as a temperature change, but it was damned close.

“‘Aha’ what?” Bucky asked.

“Got a reading. Do it again. Shift more if you can. Can you do the whole hand?”

“Easy,” Bucky said, and the shift happened, smooth and effortless.

Tony grinned. “Beautiful. Keep doing that. I’ll let you know when to stop.”


	37. Chapter 37

Seventy years ago, on their last double date, Bucky had taken Steve to the Stark Expo. Back then, when Steve had been a scrawny little nothing, Bucky hadn’t just been gorgeous, smooth, and witty. He’d been brilliant in school, with a keen mind able to grasp every new concept the teachers presented, especially in math and science.

Now, despite all HYDRA had done to him, he once again proved that the old Bucky was still in there. For seventy years, HYDRA had given Bucky only the knowledge he needed to carry out his missions, but in a handful of hours, Tony helped to update his knowledge of science far beyond anything Steve — or Sam, judging by his sidelong glances — could understand.

They probably would’ve still been at it, if JARVIS hadn’t interrupted, saying, “My apologies, sir, but you have a meeting in ten minutes.”

Tony looked up at the ceiling, the light of the holograms casting a mad silver-blue gleam in his eyes. “Shit. Res—”

“Sir, you requested I not allow you to reschedule.”

Tony grimaced. “Traitor. See, Bucky? This is why computers will eventually rule the world.”

“Because you’re too stupid to not leave yourself an out?” Bucky challenged.

Sam burst out laughing. “He’s got you there, Stark.”

“Double-traitor. See if I give you the upgraded wings I designed,” Tony threatened, pointing at Sam. “If you’re gonna be like that, you can trust the Air Force to help you fly.”

“It’s what they do. Sort of in the name.”

“Yeah, but I’m better. Out, all of you,” Tony said, waving them towards the door. “Bucky, I’ll have the data sent to your tablet. Don’t break it until I can design something claw-proof.”

Steve walked with Sam and Bucky to the workshop doors, then paused and kissed Bucky’s hair before saying, “Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” He turned back toward Tony, who was swiping his hand through the floating holograms like an insane orchestra conductor. “Thanks, Tony.”

“What? Huh?” Tony looked back as if surprised to find Steve in his lab.

Steve walked back towards Tony slowly, saying, “You were really good with him. Thanks for that.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem,” Tony said, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“And...” Steve scratched his head, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence. “I’m sorry. About Obadiah.”

He didn’t have to be a werewolf to catch the way Tony went tense, turning his back so he could go back to playing with the holograms. “No worries. It’s all in the past. Years ago,” he said a little too quickly.

“I never would have been so...” Steve shook his head. “I was an asshole, and I should have trusted you. If you want to talk...”

Tony waved a hand, but then went still. “It shouldn’t have mattered,” he said quietly. One twitch cleared the holograms out of the air, and he turned to meet Steve’s eyes across the workshop. “After Loki’s invasion — Whatever happened before shouldn’t have mattered.”

_Shit._

It shouldn’t have. Tony had proved his worth in that battle. He’d done the one thing Steve had said he never would — he’d taken one for the team and almost died because of it. Steve should have been able to give Tony the benefit of the doubt, especially when it came to motives, but he still wasn’t used to Tony being a team player.

“You’re right. And I trust you in a fight. I just... It’s _Bucky._ And you’ve said yourself you’re better with computers than people...” Steve sighed. “If I’d known how you were going to be, I would have backed off.”

“Yeah. I guess I’d be the same with Pepper.” Tony glanced evasively around the workshop. “When the others show up, remember this whole team thing was _your_ idea. If you expect us to welcome a werewolf assassin who’s worked for HYDRA for the last seventy years, I think we can expect a little more consideration in return.”

“Touche.” Steve tried to turn his wince into a smile. “But given that S.H.I.E.L.D. has sheltered HYDRA this whole time, it seems we all have to rethink what allegiance means nowadays.” He took a breath before continuing, “I’ll talk with the team. But your vote of confidence will go a long way. Especially with Bruce.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him ahead of time, before he shows up and finds Bucky chewing the sofa.” Tony’s laugh was still a little sharp.

Steve stepped forward until he was close but just out of Tony’s reach. He wasn’t certain what had Tony so tense — whether it was thinking about the past, or the battle of New York, or Bucky as a werewolf — but he wanted to be as non-threatening and reassuring as possible. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Thor won’t bat an eyelash, and if I can tell Clint that Nat’s okay —” He interrupted himself when he remembered her exit earlier. “Where was she headed? Not leaving because of us, I hope?”

“Senate hearing. She released the intel, and she wanted to be the one to confront them about it. She’s coming right back.” Tony took a deep breath. “Whether they try to arrest her or not, or so she said.”

_Jesus._

Talk about taking one for the team. Nat would always be the best out of them all. “Fingers crossed that doesn’t mean bloodshed.” He smiled at Tony, hoping to see him smile in return.

“Don’t spoil her fun. Now go,” Tony said, shooing Steve towards the door. “I have a meeting, and you need your beauty sleep. Your interview is at 7:30, coffee place in the lobby. JARVIS will be watching the whole time, so you’ll have backup.”

“Shit. I forgot. Thank God for JARVIS.” Steve smiled one last time before turning around to walk out. “Thanks again, Tony. Bucky and I both appreciate it.”

“Send him back up to visit any time.” After a moment’s pause, Tony added, “Both of you.”

That felt like a good sign. Maybe they weren’t going to be banned from Tony’s space after all. Now that Steve didn’t feel like he had to protect Bucky from Tony, maybe he could keep himself from lashing out and causing such strife between them. Fingers crossed...

“Will do. See you later.”

 

~~~

 

The door to Sam’s apartment was unlocked, and as Steve turned the doorknob a rush of joy hit him. He could recognize that most of it came from his own anticipation of seeing Bucky — and Sam — but some of it was Bucky sharing his happiness that Steve was home. It felt so good, Steve wanted to pounce on Bucky and lick his face. He stayed in human form out of politeness, and chuckled to himself when he walked into the living room and saw Sam and Bucky on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, with a serving plate balanced across their laps.

“Steve. _Steve,_ ” Bucky said, the word muffled by whatever he was chewing. He brandished something at Steve. It smelled like pepperoni pizza, but it was barely the size of his palm. “Look. Bagel pizzas, Steve. _Pizza on bagels._ ”

“We’re never taking your boyfriend to the frozen food aisle,” Sam told Steve, grinning fondly at Bucky.

“You’ve gotta stop feeding him junk food, Sam. He needs to remember vegetables exist.” Steve couldn’t hide his goofy grin as he approached the couch. “There room for me?”

“Shut up and try this,” Bucky said, handing over the miniature half-bagel. While Steve took an experimental bite, Bucky picked up the serving plate so he could move closer to Sam, crowding him over to make room.

“That’s weirdly good.” Steve spoke around the bite in his mouth as he crawled onto the couch and curled up next to Bucky. “Gimme.”

“Isn’t it?” Bucky settled the plate in his lap and got his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Did you know we dropped nuclear bombs on Japan?”

“Yeah.” Steve had seen the images and spent a good amount of time processing the conclusion of the war when he’d first been defrosted. But at the moment, he was focusing on the comfort of being with Bucky and sharing a simple pleasure. He leaned in and nosed Bucky’s ear, reveling in his scent — as he stole a pizza bagel from Bucky’s lap.

“And the wars haven’t stopped,” Bucky said, turning to look in Sam’s direction. “I sort of know about some of them — or at least I think I remember parts.”

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s arm. “And you’re going to take things slow. Even a grad school history major can’t take in the last seventy years in a day or a week.”

“I know,” Bucky said with a sigh that made Steve guess they’d had this conversation already. “I just... I want to get caught up. I need to understand this whole HYDRA thing. How they could make me think...”

“Babe, It’s okay. We’ve got time.” Steve reached up to run his fingers through Bucky’s short hair, then trailed them down to brush along his jaw and neck. He wanted to keep Bucky’s heartbeat steady and calm, to ease away the anger with his own comfort.

Bucky sighed again and hugged Steve close. “I know,” he said softly. Then he shook his head and ruffled Steve’s hair, turning back to the television. “The two of you. I’m not gonna break from watching TV and making out on the couch.”

Steve chuckled and snuggled close. “Never said you would. C’mere,” he said, reaching up to touch Bucky’s jaw and guide him into a kiss that was polite for barely a heartbeat. Bucky growled into the kiss, arm going tight around Steve’s shoulders — tight enough that he could feel each individual groove in the plates.

But then Bucky pulled back and turned away, and Steve looked past him to see Sam lean forward, moving the plate of pizza bagels onto the coffee table. “Sam?”

“Honeymoon,” Sam said with a smile. “It’s all right. You two want the couch?”

“Don’t go. We’re all so cozy here.” Steve spoke before he really let himself think about what he was saying. Once he did, however, he realized he meant it. Sam might have declined being pack, but he was a fast friend, and Steve felt very comfortable with him. And he knew Bucky did, too.

“If we’re going to sit out here, _you_ ” — Sam sat back and elbowed Bucky — “watch the show. It was your idea, remember?”

Bucky let out a wolfishly dramatic sigh and leaned against Sam, pulling Steve along with him. “I’m watching. I’m watching.”

“Here, I’ll stop distracting him.” Steve grinned and kissed Bucky’s jaw, then got up and walked behind the couch to change. He tugged off his shirt, toed off his shoes, and then undid his jeans. They slipped off as he shifted into wolf, though he had to kick his hind feet out of his socks. Leaving the clothes on the floor, where he’d be able to pick them up in his mouth and carry them home, he shook himself to revel in the feeling of being back in his fur. Then he padded back around the couch to sprawl out with his chest across Bucky’s lap, front paws resting on Sam’s leg.

“Is this some plot to get fur all over the food so you get it all?” Sam asked, covering Steve’s paws with one hand.

Steve sighed and lay down fully, resting his chin on Sam’s thigh. He cared more about the camaraderie of curling up in a pile than the food, though the smell was strong in his nose.

“You got that end,” Bucky said, digging his metal fingers into Steve’s fur. “You get to feed him.”

“Two spoiled werewolves,” Sam complained. “Next, you’ll be expecting us to brush you, huh?”

Steve whined and wagged his tail so hard, it made Bucky laugh. He’d forgotten they might want to do that for him, and he definitely wanted to know what it felt like.

“That’s a yes,” Bucky said, moving just out of Steve’s line-of-sight. “ _After_ we’re done eating.”

Sam leaned forward and picked up the plate. “Yeah, some of us don’t appreciate fur in our food,” he said as he handed the plate to Bucky, who balanced it on Steve’s back.

“And no ‘accidentally’ spilling it,” Bucky added. “JARVIS, can you rewind this some?”

“Shall I return it to the moment when Captain Rogers entered, Sergeant?” JARVIS offered.

“That’d work. Here, Sam, feed him before he gets any ideas.”

A growl and a quick, hard tail wag had both Sam and Bucky pausing for just a moment, before Steve let his tongue hang out of his mouth in a big wolfy grin. Sam gave Steve a _look_ before the plate found a stable resting place and a bagel was offered for him to snap up in one bite. He settled his weight more comfortably on Bucky and closed his eyes, uncaring about the TV special. He focused on the feel of Bucky’s fingers buried in the fur on his back and Sam’s palm resting on his paw. This feeling of contentment was much better than pizza bagels any day.

He lay there long enough to lose track of whose hands on him were whose, and when he thought about opening his eyes to check, he realized he didn’t care. Bucky was right; whether or not Sam was fully _pack_ didn’t matter as much as the fact that he was _theirs._ In Steve’s wolf mind and senses, all of his teammates — Avengers and otherwise — fell into the _us_ category as Bucky had described it, but that didn’t necessarily mean Bucky felt the same way, except when it came to Sam. He was firmly in the _us_ column for both of them, even without sharing their bond, which meant Sam was the one person Steve could fully trust with Bucky. And that meant a lot.

Besides, Steve had to admit that Sam’s function in the workshop earlier had ended up being more to keep Steve calm than Bucky, who had done just fine with Tony’s unique brand of bedside manner. Sam’s stable heartbeat and compassionate curiosity had helped Steve breathe easier and allowed him to let go his fear of something bad happening, either _to_ Bucky or _because_ of him.

In gratitude for everything Sam had been for them, Steve found himself licking the back of the hand Sam had rested on his paws earlier. It had remained a steady weight the whole time, a comforting connection between them, and Steve wanted to acknowledge that. Sam laughed and, with a quick twist of his wrist, caught Steve’s tongue.

Steve tried to pull his head back, and when he couldn’t, he froze. The sensation of Sam’s hand gripping his tongue was disconcerting and strange, and Steve tried to combat it by licking, which didn’t really work. He whined and looked at Sam with pleading eyes.

Sam grinned and let go, then rubbed his hand over Steve’s muzzle. “That a hint for more pizza? I can make more.”

“Brushing,” Bucky answered on Steve’s behalf. He leaned against Sam so he could meet Steve’s eyes and asked, “You want us to brush you?”

Steve nodded and licked Bucky’s cheek — or his neck and jaw and cheek and temple and hair. Steve still wasn’t so accurate with his larger-than-expected tongue. He also wasn’t so sure why Bucky was so interested in brushing him. He remembered it being a chore to brush Bucky — a _fun_ chore, but a lot of work just the same. The thing he was certain about, however, was that he really did want both Sam and Bucky to brush him. Something about that felt really appealing.

“Down on the floor, then,” Sam said, giving Steve a shove that had no possibility of actually moving his bulk. “Let’s try to keep the couch a little fur-free. Bucky, grab the brushes?”

“On it,” Bucky said, pushing his right arm under Steve’s chest. He hugged and lifted, struggling more with Steve’s size than his weight. Despite the awkwardness, he held Steve close, paws dangling, for a couple of seconds before easing him onto the floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way.

Steve licked Bucky’s forearm in thanks, then followed him out to their place to get the grooming implements. When he looked back from the door, Sam was making room and settling himself on the floor, ready to lavish attention on Steve for the next couple hours.

It made Steve wish Sam had a furry coat so he and Buck could return the favor.

 

~~~

 

“So, is this how you werewolves make more? ’Cause we’ve brushed off enough to make at least one,” Sam said, holding up the grocery bag stuffed full of fur that he and Bucky had combed off Steve.

“Do people still knit these days?” Bucky asked. “We could have someone make socks.”

“Sweaters or scarves, maybe,” Sam said with a laugh.

Steve would have laughed at the idea of someone wearing him on their feet if he hadn’t been too blissed out to move. He had quickly learned that there was nothing in the world more relaxing than having someone brush his fur for however long it had been. Not to mention how _good_ it felt. Bucky had likened it to sex, which had made Steve nervous for half a second, but it wasn’t sensual so much as it was almost _overwhelming_ sensation. It was all pleasurable, but more like scratching an itch than anything more intimate. It was immensely satisfying — and yes, it made Steve sleepy.

“Is that why there aren’t warm socks anymore?” Bucky asked. “They’re all... thin.”

“We can get you wool hiking socks.”

Steve half-listened to the conversation, preferring to concentrate more on the sounds than the words. Even though Sam and Bucky had finished with the brushing, they went back to petting him with slow, lazy strokes as they talked. It must have been the fact that he was so content to just _be_ in his body that his mind didn’t pick up on where Bucky was headed before it was blatant.

“You’ve got a great voice,” Bucky said, his own voice going low and full of interest.

One set of hands went still — presumably Sam’s. “Me?”

“Mmm. And great hands.”

Steve had heard these compliments before, from Bucky when he was lobbying for the two of them to fuck Sam. The tone brought back images of when Bucky used to pick up two girls at once for them to take out before the war. For a moment Steve worried if Bucky would offend Sam by talking like that to him, but then his brain caught up to the twenty-first century and his senses caught onto the way both Sam and Bucky smelled, and he growled in pleasure.

“Bucky... Like I said before, I don’t want to get in the way of your honeymoon,” Sam said slowly.

“You brushed Steve. And me,” Bucky said. Steve felt Bucky’s flesh and blood hand ruffle against the lay of his fur and then disappear when it reached where Sam’s hands had gone still. The subtle shift in pressure told Steve that Bucky was holding Sam’s hand. “What do you say we make _you_ feel good, too?”

“There’s a big difference between brushing and sex.”

“Human thinking,” Bucky dismissed. “They both feel good. And we can make you feel _really_ good. Right, Steve?”

Not wanting to ruin the moment or scare Sam off, Steve stayed wolf instead of shifting to answer. He wagged his tail in agreement and whined pitifully.

“You, _no_ ,” Sam said, tapping Steve’s muzzle. “Brushing’s as much as you get, as long as you keep your fur on.”

Bucky let out a huff. “We don’t want anyone in fur. Not for this,” he said, twisting around to face Sam, one shoulder resting against the couch. “Besides, we kinda like you as you are. Don’t need fur yet to be a part of us.”

“Bucky...” Sam’s voice had gone soft and husky. His hands left Steve’s fur, and Steve lifted his head to see Sam rubbing Bucky’s arms, not quite holding him at bay, but also not pulling him closer. “Maybe you can hear what Steve’s thinking, but I can’t.”

Bucky’s lips twitched up in a faint smile, and he glanced at Steve. “He wants you just as much. Maybe even from before I found him again.”

Steve would freely admit he had no idea how to pick people up, but it was true he’d noticed Sam running around the reflecting pool for at least a week before joining him. It was getting difficult for Steve to not be able to speak his mind at the moment, but he had enough human sense to know he shouldn’t be naked right in the middle of their — whatever it was, negotiation? He raised up onto his paws with an apologetic whine and turned, thinking he’d get his pants.

But Sam caught a handful of fur, then quickly let go. “Hey. Steve, don’t go.”

Steve whined again and licked Sam’s hand, then tried to convey his intentions by nipping carefully at Sam’s sleeve, and then nosing at Bucky’s denim-covered knee.

“English, Steve,” Sam insisted.

Steve huffed and hopped up onto the couch, hoping to hide himself a bit, then shifted to say, “You haven’t said yes, so I didn’t want to get naked yet. Sorry.”

“We’re pack, Sam,” Bucky said, holding out his right hand to Sam. “If he didn’t want you, too, then I wouldn’t. That’s how it works.”

“If you don’t want us, it’s fine, Sam. Because we’re kind of a package deal, and that might not be easy...” Steve looked down at his hands in his lap to keep from having to make eye contact.

“We’ve been through this before, guys,” Sam said.

“It doesn’t —” Bucky sighed and moved so he could lean against Steve’s legs. “Tell him, Steve. Tell him it doesn’t have to be all _complicated_.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve said, “We aren’t asking for anything elaborate. This isn’t like asking you to be pack. We just want...” He glanced down at Bucky even though he didn’t need to look at him to know how he felt. “We just want you, Sam. Right now, because it feels good. And because you make us feel good.”

“And you’re ours,” Bucky added, reaching out so he could run his metal fingertips up Sam’s arm.

“He means that a lot less possessively than it sounds. ‘One of us’ sounds better than ‘ours’, Buck.”

“But he _is_ ours,” Bucky insisted, looking up at Steve. “He fought beside you, and he said he’d fight by me. We take care of each other. Make each other feel good.”

Steve looked at Sam with a smirk. “Wolf-mind. Real simple.”

“Wolf-mind?” Sam started to laugh, shaking his head. He leaned against the couch, shoulder just touching Steve’s other leg, and covered Bucky’s hand with his own. “I can’t tell if this is a really weird recruiting effort or an even weirder seduction.”

“Nobody needs to seduce anyone. We all want each other,” Bucky said.

“But you can still say no. That won’t change how much we like you.” Steve brushed his fingers along the top of Sam’s shoulder for just a moment, hoping to be reassuring.

Until Bucky added, “Besides, Steve’s surprisingly good at fucking, considering I don’t remember him even kissing anyone, before the war.”

“Jesus. _Thanks_ , Buck.” Steve’s hands flew to his face to cover the blush, and then he remembered he was naked and exposed. “Can we stop _talking_ about this? Like, twenty seconds ago? If nothing’s happening tonight, I’m gonna put on pants.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sam said, laughing even harder. “But you know, _that_ wasn’t part of your Smithsonian exhibit. You want to call them and correct that? JARVIS can probably find the phone number.”

“What wasn’t? The fact that I didn’t want anyone but the two people I was sure I couldn’t have? It’s in there, if you read between the lines. Have you heard what it says about Bucky and me being inseparable? And I’m sure there’s a filmstrip that shows my compass cover...” Steve stopped before he mentioned Peggy outright. It still hurt to think about her ruined memory and how she didn’t have the benefit of the serum to repair her mind.

“Once it’s safe, I want to go there,” Bucky said, looking up at Steve. “Can we?”

“Yeah, babe. Definitely. There are a lot of old pictures and films and stuff. I can tell you stories about the Commandos.” Steve ran his hand over Bucky’s hair and down his neck to sneak under his collar. He looked over at Sam and said, “But right now, I feel like either I should be clothed, or you guys should be naked. Your choice, Sam.”

“You two really do kinda suck at the seduction,” Sam said, his voice going affectionately soft, “but I’ll admit to being a little curious about these mad skills of yours, Cap.”

“You haven’t said yes yet. And I don’t have any skills, just... um, enthusiasm, I guess.” Steve shrugged and looked away from both of them. He could feel the swell of pride from Bucky that enhanced the current of interest he’d been trying to ignore until they were sure about what Sam actually wanted.

“Nothing wrong with enthusiasm,” Sam said, moving to sit on the couch, next to Steve. “And you can’t blame me for having a hard time believing that Captain America would be at all interested in a guy like me.”

Frowning in confusion for a moment, Steve said, “A guy like what? An ace pararescue medic whose loyalty is matched only by his skill? Yeah, who’d wanna be with someone _that_ amazing?”

“Jesus, man,” Sam said, looking away, not quite able to hide his grin. “I’m just a soldier.”

“So are we,” Bucky said as he got up to sit on Sam’s other side. “That’s probably why we all get along so well.”

“Either that or it’s because Bucky’s a horny bastard. Hard to tell when his smell’s so strong in my nose.” Steve reached around Sam to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder.

“Mmm, I’m not the only one,” Bucky growled, taking the excuse to crowd close to Sam’s back. He brushed his lips just above the collar of Sam’s shirt, and Steve felt the way Sam shivered in response. “What d’you say, Sam? It’ll be fun.”

“No, I’m sitting on the couch with him naked and you pawing at me so we can discuss politics,” Sam said dryly.

Bucky laughed, but only for a moment. Steve felt a flicker of worry and confusion as Bucky asked, “He’s kidding, right?”

Steve smiled at Bucky, sending him reassurance. Then he winked at Sam. “He doesn’t get sarcasm, Sam. Be explicit. Wolves are real simple.”

“Steve, in case you didn’t notice, up in Stark’s workshop, he understood more than the two of us combined.” Sam turned and leaned back so he could look at Bucky. “C’mere, Science Wolf. Let’s make this explicit.”


	38. Chapter 38

Steve couldn’t find the least hint of jealousy anywhere inside himself.

He propped up on his elbow to better watch Bucky crawling down Sam’s body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his skin, and all Steve could feel was contentment and desire and affection for them both. The fact that Bucky’s attention was wholly on Sam didn’t mean he loved Steve any less. And the fact that Bucky knew Steve could share in his pleasure made their bond feel even stronger. It had Steve’s body responding to everything Bucky was doing and feeling, as if _he_ were the one being touched. It was almost seduction by proxy.

Except in this case, the proxy was as seductive as anything Bucky was doing. Sam was _hot._ With his shirt off, he rivaled the muscle tone of either of the super soldiers. Hearing his heartbeat and his breathing go fast and sharp was hell on Steve’s self-control.

And when Sam’s hand flattened against Steve’s back, it was as natural as breathing to lean down, cuddle close, and kiss Sam for the first time.

Sam’s lips were lush and strong and felt nothing like Bucky’s. He didn’t use them like Bucky did either. Steve felt a little dizzy at the juxtaposition of familiarity and difference, and he pressed in, reaching his hand around the back of Sam’s neck to ground himself. Sam groaned into the kiss and pulled Steve even closer with one hand; the other, Steve could feel touching Bucky, because Bucky’s mind was full of pleasure at how Sam was petting his hair.

And then Sam tensed, pulling back from the kiss to say, “Bucky. Hey, wait.”

A twinge of anxiety shot through Bucky and echoed through Steve. “What?” Bucky asked, pushing up on one arm to stare at Sam in surprise. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Hell, no,” Sam said with a quiet laugh. “We should just — Aw, shit. I don’t suppose you guys have condoms in your room?”

Confusion slid through Steve from Bucky, combined with his own shot of anxiety and guilt. He’d read up enough on the sexual revolution and the onset of the HIV/AIDS epidemic to know that things were a lot different nowadays, but none of that had once entered his mind with Bucky.

“Why?” Bucky asked, throwing Steve a baffled frown. “None of us is female, and me and Steve aren’t human.”

Sam’s brows shot up, and he, like Bucky, looked to Steve for an explanation. “What’s... You saying werewolves don’t get STIs?”

“Ah...” Steve had to take a second to remember what STI stood for. “The serum put our immune systems on overdrive. I don’t think we could get sick if we tried. But I don’t know if we’re carriers or anything...”

After a moment, Bucky shook his head. “We’re immune to everything. I remember testing that, a couple of times. Even manufactured bioagents.”

 _“What?”_ Sam sat up and caught Bucky by the shoulder, and Steve saw how his jaw clenched to hold back whatever else he’d been about to say.

“It... made sense?” Bucky said nervously. “If I could catch something — or if I could carry it — we had to know.”

Steve was overcome for a minute by the sheer number of ways HYDRA must have thought to use Bucky as a killing machine in the past seven decades — and how little they seemed to care about his survival. Once the chill of fear had swept through him, though, the burn of righteous anger spread hot across his skin. “Baby, they could have killed you. Or you could have killed a lot of innocent people. Jesus Christ.”

“Steve. No.” Bucky scrambled to all fours and crawled over Sam’s legs so he could reach Steve’s shoulder. “We had to know. _I_ wanted to know. It was a good strategic decision.”

“It was reckless endangerment, and they sold it to you as a noble sacrifice.” It made Steve sick to think that the man who Bucky seemed to have loved as a father would have treated him as no more than a lab rat. “I can’t believe...” his voice gave out as he pulled Bucky into his arms. He buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder until he found voice to continue. “Promise me no more risks like that. Even for the greater good.”

“We’re awfully tough, Steve,” Bucky said, sounding as puzzled as he felt. “Even if we could get sick, it wouldn’t _do_ anything.”

“Okay, okay, hang on,” Sam said, rubbing his hand over Steve’s back. “The serum means you two can’t get sick, right? So how come you were able to make Steve a werewolf? It was a bite, wasn’t it?”

“I think werewolves have to be magic or something,” Bucky said, sounding absolutely serious, despite how ridiculous his words were. “Otherwise, the pack couldn’t have changed me because of the serum, right?”

Steve decided to play along — to stick with Bucky’s logic for sake of the argument — and once he did, he realized it made sense. “The bite’s a wound, Sam. We can get wounded; we just heal really quickly. Doesn’t mean it couldn’t do damage and hurt for a bit. During the time I was wounded, I would have been vulnerable to whatever... magic caused me to change into a werewolf. And that magic stuck around after I healed, even if the bite mark didn’t.”

“Huh. That could be,” Sam said thoughtfully. “I mean, what the hell, right? We got super-soldiers, people turned into AIs, aliens and Norse gods... Magic werewolves.”

“Magic werewolves who don’t need condoms, so we don’t need to leave the bed,” Bucky hinted.

“Unless it’s for Sam’s peace of mind.” Steve shrugged and moved towards the edge of the bed.

Sam caught Steve’s hip and held him in place. “Maybe I’m violating health regs here, but I think I can trust a couple of magic werewolves. But if I get fleas or rabies, it’s all on you two, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve leaned over and kissed Sam’s shoulder, then asked, “Where were we?”

“Lie down, and let me get back to what I was doing,” Bucky hinted. “Steve, distract him or something.”

Sam laughed. “Was he always like this?” he asked, grinning up at Steve.

“Blatant about wanting to get his own way? Yeah. Always.” Steve smirked at Sam, then pressed gently on his chest to get him to lie down. “It’s a lot easier to just do what he says. Usually more fun, too.”

“Uh, without us to keep him in line, your werewolf over there would be gorging himself on pancakes and bacon,” Sam said, pulling Steve down with him.

A surge of triumph hit Steve’s mind from Bucky, who snickered and said, “Told you.”

“Told me what?” Steve was distracted by the feel of Sam’s hands on his back, and lips on his neck, and he was sure he’d missed something.

“He said ‘us’. He’s already ours.”

The laugh escaped Steve just as his mouth hovered over Sam’s. He didn’t pull away even as he hissed his response against Sam’s lips. “Yes... Good.” And it was _very_ good to kiss Sam again. Steve let it take all his focus, never quite forgetting Bucky, since he could feel his pleasure as well as his own, but it was like background noise, augmenting every sensation, until Sam gasped and Bucky’s arousal shot through Steve.

“Bucky. God,” Sam whispered roughly.

Steve couldn’t help moaning at being plugged into the feedback loop of pleasure from his two lovers. It didn’t make sense that he was feeling as good as he was simply from kissing Sam while Bucky... did whatever he was doing. He looked down and things made a bit more sense because Bucky had his mouth around Sam’s cock, his cheeks hollowed out as he sucked. The sight, along with Sam’s broken words and Bucky’s deep satisfaction, took Steve’s breath, leaving him paralyzed with desire until Sam tugged at his hair, pulling him back into a fervent kiss.

Somewhere in the middle of the flood of pleasure engulfing him, Steve was aware that Bucky knew how good a kisser Sam was, but only because he could sense Steve reveling in the feeling. It made him chuckle into Sam’s mouth and reach his hand down to touch Bucky’s shoulder.

The moment his fingertips touched metal, it was as if an electrical circuit completed. Sensation surged through him, blurring the boundaries between himself and Bucky in a sharing more intimate than any they’d had before. And even though he couldn’t feel Sam’s mind, he could sense Sam’s enjoyment in the heat beneath his skin, the hitch of his breath, the smell of his body as the pleasure built.

Bucky brought a wolf’s sense of play and teased Sam, building the pleasure without ever letting _close_ become _enough_. Steve knew first-hand how frustrating that could be, but he also knew that dragging it out now meant greater satisfaction later. So he touched and kissed in near-perfect synchronicity with Bucky, and when Bucky rolled onto his side, pulling Sam against him, Steve knew what they both wanted.

Bucky kept Sam from noticing when Steve left the bed and went for the bathroom, where he found that same useful-for-everything lubricant. He brought it back to the bedroom and stopped still, struck by the beauty of his lovers' bodies, powerful limbs entwined. Bucky was learning firsthand how lovely Sam's mouth was, and Sam's hands wouldn't stop bringing little thrills of pleasure through Bucky as they stroked over his back and sides and ass.

When Steve registered a sharp but pleasurable pain and heard Bucky gasp, he realized Sam had bitten Bucky's lip, and he joined Bucky in growling in approval. Crawling onto the bed, Steve pressed up against Sam’s back and kissed his shoulder muscles, sliding his palm slowly over Sam’s hip and ass. God, he was in good shape, his dark skin unmarred by the scars that Bucky wore.

“Do you want me to...?” Steve asked, sliding his hand down a little more.

Sam’s breath caught. He arched his back and slid one leg over Bucky’s, opening himself up. “Yeah. Sure. Just go easy. Not one of you super-soldier types,” he said with a hitched laugh.

“You keep saying that,” Bucky complained. “You _are_ one of us. We wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Bucky taught me how to do this part right so it doesn’t hurt. I can't feel you like I can him, but I’m a good listener. Just tell me what you need.” Steve kissed the base of Sam's neck. “And what you like.”

“Just do what feels good,” Sam managed to say despite Bucky’s insistent kissing.

Thank God for Bucky. His patient instruction — and, yes, their shared senses — had given Steve confidence he never would’ve imagined having. He knew how to be gentle, how to coax Sam’s body into opening to one finger, then two. And he knew how to find that spot that made Sam gasp and arch back with a deep, soft moan of satisfaction.

Bucky silenced the next moan with a kiss, and Steve had to close his eyes so he could concentrate on what he was doing to Sam before Bucky’s pleasure could pull him under. _Slow and careful_ , he told himself, pressing soft bites along the muscle from Sam’s neck to his shoulder.

“God, Sam,” Steve whispered after a few more minutes and another finger’s worth of stretch. “You good? Can I please...?” he asked as he fumbled for the bottle of lube.

Sam’s laugh was low and husky. “Sounds like somebody’s impatient,” he teased.

“Mmm, I can feel how impatient,” Bucky murmured. “You wanna get on top of me?”

“How about we all stay like this? Then I can...”

Pleasure spiked through Bucky and into Steve, who nearly shattered the plastic bottle as his fist clenched. Lubricant oozed out all over his hand unnoticed, because Sam’s hand was stroking Bucky’s cock in a slow, strong rhythm that drove rational thought from both werewolves’ minds.

Distantly, Steve heard Bucky say, “Sam. Fuck, that’s nice.”

Steve was filled with nothing but want — sheer, blinding want. He'd been able to keep his wolf at bay so far, but he could feel it practically scratching at his ribcage to come out. He hadn't had to keep control over himself like this before.

But Sam was human, and Steve had to be careful. “Please Sam.” Steve’s voice was a deep growl that he tried to keep gentle. “Let me...”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed into Bucky’s mouth, pushing back against Steve.

_Thank God._

It didn’t make sense, but after pushing in, everything was easier. Steve’s claws didn’t want to come out, and his breath steadied. Bucky’s pleasure dovetailed with his own, and he didn’t feel like he was stretched thin and cracking around the edges anymore. His job was simple: give as much pleasure to Sam as he could in this one very focused way while enjoying the sensation himself.

Sam was vocal and active in his pleasure, and it helped Steve concentrate on their physical connection, even as the connection in his mind registered the pleasure Sam was giving to Bucky — and vice versa. Even without a pack connection, Bucky enjoyed making others feel good, especially someone he liked as much as Sam. Steve didn’t have to look over Sam’s shoulder to confirm that the two of them had their hands on each other, but he did anyway, despite how it threatened the slow, hard rhythm he’d set up. The sight of their hands and bodies was inspiring. Impossible to ignore.

And despite all of his training at keeping his mind sharp under the most stressful of situations, he had no idea which of them came first. Like the chain reaction at the heart of a nuclear bomb, one jolt of pleasure was enough to push them all over the edge. Even Sam, without the pack bond, couldn’t resist.

But because he didn’t have that pack bond, Sam was the first to recover, slipping out from between Steve and Bucky with murmured assurances that he’d be right back. Bucky rolled into the middle of the bed and cuddled right into Steve’s arms. His kisses tasted like Sam’s mouth, and once again the juxtaposition of familiar and different had Steve reeling. But concentrating on Bucky’s body and pleasure and satisfaction was grounding in a way Steve hadn’t felt before — like coming home after a long trip. He reveled in their connection and through it let Bucky know how much he’d enjoyed himself, and both of them.

“Sam’s good. Don’t you want him like that?”

“Yeah, but you’re better at it,” Bucky said, shoving Steve back so he could rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. His metal arm was cool across Steve’s chest.

Steve blinked as he rested his cheek against Bucky’s forehead. “That’s not true. But you definitely don’t make it easy. It’s damned hard to concentrate when I can feel you, too.”

Bucky’s laugh was smug. “You _are_ ,” he insisted. “Howard couldn’t keep it up when I was fucking him, I don’t think. Only when you did me...” He turned so he could kiss Steve’s chest, then lifted his head just enough to catch Steve’s eye. “You’re doing something right.”

“It’s the serum, babe.” Steve tried not to blush at Bucky’s compliments and his appreciative gaze. “Though it helps to feel what you want on a bone-deep level. Hard to screw up that way.” He leaned in to kiss Bucky lightly on the lips.

“Yeah, maybe _your_ serum. I don’t think I knew Howard before I got mine. Not personally, anyway. Right?”

“Right, but _he_ never had it, so how could he keep it up when you fucked him?” Steve wasn’t sure who was getting confused about what, until he remembered what just happened. “Wait. Did Sam stay erect the whole time?”

“Pretty much, yeah. See?” Bucky shot Steve an amused grin. Then he raised his voice and added, “Right, Sam?”

“You think I’m gonna agree to _anything_ without knowing what you two are conspiring about?” Sam asked from the doorway. Steve turned just as Sam threw a couple of towels at them.

Shooting a grateful look at Sam, Steve addressed Bucky as he sat up and started to clean himself off. “Are you sure he’s not a super-soldier? Or at least a secret Avenger? He fucks like one and talks like the other.”

Bucky’s laugh drowned out Sam’s groan. “You know,” Sam said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Much as I’m happy to take the credit, I wasn’t exactly doing much work there.”

“You weren't supposed to. We wanted to make you feel good. ” Steve looked up at Sam and tossed the towel aside. He frowned for a moment in worry. “At least, I thought that was the plan. Was it okay?”

“Hey,” Sam said gently, twisting to get his legs up onto the bed. He rubbed his hand over Steve’s arm and smiled, first at Steve, then at Bucky. “You two... That was amazing. Way better than ‘okay’.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief and leaned into Sam’s touch. “Okay. Good. I’m not in your head, so I couldn’t tell. I didn’t hurt you at all?”

“No...” Sam’s fingers twitched against Steve’s arm. “When you say ‘in my head’, you two were... what? Feeling all of... There isn’t even language for this,” he said with a laugh.

“We feel how we react to what we’re feeling,” Bucky explained — or not, actually.

Huffing a laugh at Bucky’s ineffectual but true response, Steve tried again. “I can feel Bucky’s pleasure or pain or fear, but not what causes it. So I knew you were making him feel good, but until I saw your hand on him I wasn’t sure how. It was much more confusing — but damned fun — to have you in the mix. When it’s just the two of us the feedback loop is short and intense.”

“Oh, yeah? Glad I could be useful,” Sam said wryly, though his grin took any sting out of the words.

Bucky huffed and reached across Steve to tug Sam closer to them both. “You’re ours. We wanted to make you feel good.”

“You keep saying I’m yours,” Sam said, glancing at Steve. “That makes you two mine, just as much.”

“Sure, if you want us.” Steve tipped his head and furrowed his brow as he tried to understand Sam’s thought process. “We aren’t trying to establish dominance, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just who’s pack.”

Sam laughed and shoved Steve’s arm out of the way so he could lie down and cuddle against Steve’s side. “Dominance? You two? That one over there sticks his whole face in the cereal box, and you” — he prodded Steve’s ribs, making him jump — “have the fashion sense of my grandpa. If anyone’s in charge around here, it’s me.”

Chuckling, Steve pulled Bucky close against his other side and shrugged. “Fine by me. You got a problem with that, Buck?”

“Can I get brushed next?” Bucky asked, showing where his priorities were.

Steve kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “Sure, hon. Just not tonight.”

“Is this really what it means to be a werewolf?” Sam asked. “Lounging around in bed, eating six times a day, and then lounging around some more?”

“There’s nothing that needs to be killed,” Bucky said with a shrug.

“Pretty sure this week is _not_ representative of normal life. After all, you just described what it’s like to be an Avenger right now, too. But sometimes we’re called upon to save New York from alien invasions or crash a bunch of helicarriers into the Potomac to save a million lives, so there’s that...”

“But if you want one of us to bite you, we shouldn’t do that on the bed,” Bucky said, once again being unhelpfully helpful.

Sam snorted. “How about we take some time to think about that? Besides, one of you still has to cook dinner. I’ve done my fair share.”

Bucky lifted his head to look at Steve again. “Did I used to know how to cook?”

“Never. But it’s not too late to learn.” Steve didn’t want to move since both of his lovers were cuddled up against him, but they did need to eat. “Want me to teach you?”

Before Bucky could answer, Sam interrupted, “Later. And not in my pristine new kitchen. Wreck your own. For now, you, share that pillow. And the other you, pull up the blanket. Not all of us have fur, y’know.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve grinned at Sam’s I’m-not-to-be-trifled-with look and raised his head to tug the pillow over so Sam could share it. Then he lifted his feet so Bucky could pull the blanket over them all, making everything perfectly cozy. He’d get out of bed and cook later. For now, he was content to stay right where he was.


	39. Chapter 39

“Good morning, sir. You wished to be notified when Ms. Lahiri arrived.”

JARVIS’ voice insinuated itself into Tony’s sleeping consciousness like a knife sliding between his ribs. He rolled onto his side and grunted, cracking one eye open. The window went from opaque obsidian to clear glass, showing a view of leaden skies and thick clouds.

“Time?” he asked.

“It is 7:25 a.m., sir.”

Ugh. Tony rolled all the way over and buried his face in the pillow, thinking he needed coffee and a shot of scotch to face the day. Then he amended that to _just_ coffee. He didn’t _need_ the scotch, despite all the excuses that flooded his thoughts: the middle-of-the-night meeting with his Asia team, the lack of Pepper in his bed, the _two goddamn werewolves_...

All he needed was to get through the morning. And as a bonus, he didn’t even need to put on pants.

“Right. Right, okay,” he mumbled, pushing himself up. He used the momentum to get himself out from under the covers and into the icy air conditioning. The shock helped him wake up, and he started across the bedroom, saying, “Security footage onscreen, JARVIS.”

The mirror lit up as Tony stumbled into the bathroom. His reflection disappeared under the image of the coffee shop in the public lobby downstairs. It was _not_ a Starbucks; Tony had seen to that. No, this place was run by one of Tony’s old college buddies who’d snapped under the pressure of working a mile underground looking for the secrets of the universe. The whole Chitauri Invasion hadn’t been kind to him, and after he got out of inpatient therapy, Tony had offered to trade top-notch medical insurance in exchange for decent pastries and coffee. Along with a water filtration system and the best espresso machines Tony’s food service division could engineer, Tony had made sure to install discreet surveillance throughout the whole place.

A ceiling-mounted camera focused down at a steep angle on a woman with short, stylish black hair and warm, light brown skin. She had a tablet — a StarkTablet, Tony noted as he brushed his teeth — and was using the stylus to hand-write notes.

“Got a data feed from her?” Tony asked, the words a little mangled by the toothpaste.

“Monitoring now, sir. Privacy is so overrated,” JARVIS said dryly.

Tony spat, rinsed, and then said, “Crisis mode, JARVIS. She’s interviewing a werewolf. We don’t want her being the next Anne Rice.”

JARVIS couldn’t sigh. He could, however, drawl, “What was I thinking, sir...”

With an amused snort, Tony used his toothbrush to swipe through the other camera feeds, looking for plants, assassins, threats, or overenthusiastic teenagers. Fortunately, it was only the usual crowd of New Yorkers in suits and dresses, noses buried in their smartphones. It was the perfect disguise for an assassin, of course, but Tony wasn’t particularly worried. One, JARVIS was watching. Two, there wasn’t much Cap couldn’t handle. And three, an assassination attempt would be good publicity.

Hell, maybe it was even worth _him_ hiring one. He had a recent contact number for Deadpool down in his workshop, didn’t he?

Then he winced as he thought about what Pepper would say. Probably a bad idea.

When he got into the shower, the display followed him, flickering to life on the glass shower wall. Between shampoo and conditioner, Cap showed up, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Shit. Forgot wardrobe,” Tony muttered, wiping the water out of his eyes. “Turn up the audio, JARVIS.”

“... Rogers?” Parul asked, approaching Steve with a hand outstretched. “Parul Lahiri, _Time_ magazine.”

Steve’s smile was soft and his eyes looked tired as he shook hands. Tony wondered how he got any sleep in a bed with a werewolf — and, it seemed, a medic. Though maybe the latter was necessary when the claws came out...

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Lahiri. I was told you didn’t need pictures, so I didn’t...” He gestured to his clothes and smiled sideways.

“That’s just fine,” she assured him. Even through the haze of steam and the slight distortion of the camera feed, Tony could see her enthusiasm. “Thank you for this. It really is an honor. Can I get you something before we begin?”

“Thanks, maybe just a plain Americano? Closest I can get to regular coffee these days.” Again, Steve’s sideways smile showed up. At least he hadn’t unleashed the puppy-dog look yet. That might kill her.

“Can do, Captain. I got us the corner table, so it’s quiet.” Before he could say another word, she headed right for the counter. She’d always been good at taking charge of her interviews while setting her subjects at ease.

“Mute until they get down to business,” Tony said, taking the opportunity to wash off.

By the time she had Steve’s coffee in hand, Tony had finished his shower. The security feed followed him into the kitchen, where he weighed Pepper-based guilt against the inevitable disappointment of a healthy breakfast. But since he wasn’t drinking his breakfast and had only gotten something like two hours of sleep, he decided he’d earned the right to indulge.

Parul started out with the usual easy questions: reaction to the HYDRA thing, feelings on the disaster in D.C., all that. Steve handled it pretty well, and Tony had to remind himself that he’d done the publicity circuit back during the war — only a couple of years ago, from his point of view.

Breathing a little easier, Tony took his Pop Tarts and second cup of coffee to the balcony, where he stopped only long enough to find sunglasses. Cloud cover or not, the unfiltered glare would stab through his eyes and right into his sleepy brain.

“Sir, you wished for me to remind you not to leave the apartment without clothes,” JARVIS said.

“Balcony, JARVIS. It’s not _leaving_ unless the elevator’s involved,” Tony said as he stepped outside. It was hot and muggy, the perfect remedy for the air conditioning that he didn’t have JARVIS turn down, because he was fully intending to go back to bed once he was done Cap-sitting.

Since the view of the city was gray and bland, Tony moved the lounge chair to face the glass wall. Obligingly, JARVIS moved the display there and piped the conversation to the external speakers. Tony settled down, absently thinking the pants would’ve been a good idea after all, but he wasn’t about to let the scratchy lounge chair win. Stubbornly, he kicked up his feet, sipped his coffee, and focused on the interview instead of his butt.

Of course the next round of questions had to do with the senate hearing, and Tony had a stab of anxiety over whether Cap was going to say anything to contradict Natasha. Had he watched the broadcast of her testimony? JARVIS had maintained full surveillance, which meant Tony got a more-graphic-than-necessary recap of what the werewolves had been doing with their stray pararescue, and he’d cut JARVIS’ summary after that.

“Agent Romanoff may have ruffled feathers, but she wasn’t wrong in her assessment,” Steve answered. Apparently he’d gotten out of bed long enough to at least watch the CNN recap. “Many of us within S.H.I.E.L.D. have spent our lives working tirelessly to protect people from the very things HYDRA was trying to accomplish. And a handful of us are expressly equipped to take up the mantle now that S.H.I.E.L.D. has fallen. Nick Fury knew that, as you know personally from the last _Time_ interview I did, and we plan on doing him proud. It’s no coincidence we met here in Stark Tower, Ms. Lahiri.” Steve’s conspiratorial smile was clearly devastating to his interviewer, and Tony mentally patted himself on the back for making sure he’d gotten one of Steve’s devoted fans for the interview.

“Are you saying legendary playboy, Tony Stark, is director material? That Stark Industries will be the next S.H.I.E.L.D.?” She leaned in, the gleam of catching a scoop in her eye.

“No. I’m saying he’s an Avenger and a damned good team player. And he’s uniquely qualified, along with Natasha and myself and others, to help America through this time of transition. Tony’s a good man, and I trust him with my life, but we aren’t looking to fill Director Fury’s shoes. We aren’t trying to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. at all. It’s time for something different.”

Huh. Well, _that_ was a nice shift from Cap’s you-can-do-nothing-right attitude of the last few days. Maybe getting laid had finally softened his bad mood.

“And what might that be?”

“It’s too soon to tell, ma’am.”

Parul leaned back and got comfortable in her seat — always a bad sign from an interviewer. It meant they were getting ready to analyze their subject’s reaction to their next question. “It’s true that Mr. Stark — along with everyone else involved with the disaster in D.C. — has been tight-lipped. In fact, the only public appearance we’ve gotten aside from Ms. Romanoff’s hearing was your unconventional coming out Q&A that first day.”

The color on the feed was muted by the reflection of the skies, but Tony could still tell that Steve was blushing. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, around his last bite of Pop Tart. Short of saying it was all mistake and that he was straight as an arrow, Steve could do no wrong here. The PR geeks had sworn up and down that they could spin the sexuality issue into a win.

“That was... unexpected. And, to my mind, unnecessary. But Tony insisted...”

“Does he have some personal stake in the matter, Captain?”

“I... I don’t know what you mean. He’s head of Avengers PR...”

“Mr. Stark isn’t someone special to you?”

“What? No!” Steve almost spilled his coffee — and he wasn’t the only one. Tony ended up wearing half his own coffee, which was another vote in favor of going back inside to get pants. But he was rooted in place, horrified by what Pepper might say, especially when Steve continued, “He just likes to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong. Besides, Pepper would have my...” He swallowed before saying, in a more controlled voice, “Tony and his CEO, Ms. Potts, are happily partnered. And I respectfully decline to answer any questions about my own relationship status.”

Parul reached forward and pressed a button on her mini-recorder sitting on the table. A light blinked on Tony’s holo-screen to show that she’d stopped recording. It was _very_ slightly possible that she’d have a bio-implant recording everything that happened, but she wasn’t that crazy.

Softly, she asked, “But you have someone, don’t you? Off the record, of course.”

Steve looked down at the recorder and spoke cautiously. “That’s off?”

She nodded. “I promise, strictly off the record.”

He shook his head. “I can’t talk about it, ma’am. I don’t want to endanger him —”

“Him? So you’re really gay?”

“Bi. Pan. Whatever’s most inclusive.”

“Have you been with both men and women?”

“Been _in love_ with both. One of each. But you can’t print any of this. Tony’s lawyers...”

“Yes, of course, but does that mean Agent Carter —”

“I can’t say any more. I’m sorry.” And that was when the puppy-dog look came out. God, if Tony could bottle that, he’d be rich. Richer. _More_ richer. Something like that.

“Are you happy, at least?” Parul looked as though she really cared about the answer, and Tony wasn’t sure if she was totally under Steve’s All-American spell or if she was damned good at her job. _He_ wasn’t a people-person, after all.

Steve relaxed at the question, which made Tony tense up, ready to tell JARVIS to intervene. “Yes,” Steve said with a radiant smile. “We’ve never been happier. It’s been a long road, and there’s still a long way to go. But at least we don’t have to do it alone anymore. _That_ means so much to me.”

“Well. Congratulations, Captain. I’m very happy for you. Give your sweetheart my best.” She reached out her hand to Steve, who took it readily.

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it. So will B— my boyfriend.”

Tony winced and scrambled up off the coffee-damp lounge chair. “Damage control mode, JARVIS,” he said, scattering Pop Tart crumbs everywhere as he headed back inside. “Lock down every record — _Shit_.”

“Sir?” JARVIS asked.

Tony looked at the reverse-image of the surveillance feed still glowing on the window. That ‘B’ sound was more than enough to give a sharp, tenacious reporter the identity of Steve’s boyfriend. And burying records of Barnes would be impossible, thanks to that damned Smithsonian exhibit.

“Skip it, JARVIS,” Tony said with a mental shrug. “Show the feed to the sharks in PR and Legal. If they don’t see the warning signs and start moving on a plan to turn Barnes from the enemy’s evil cyber-assassin and into Cap’s cuddle-bunny boyfriend, fire them all.”

In a long-suffering voice, JARVIS answered, “Very good, sir.”


	40. Chapter 40

Steve waited until the elevator doors closed to let out his breath in a sigh and sink back against the wall. He wiped his hands down his face and cursed under his breath, having no idea if he got out of that interview alive or not. The interviewer’s eyes had gone sharp at his flub with Bucky’s name, and it had Steve worried she would figure it out.

“JARVIS, take me to Tony. Though I’m sure he wouldn’t let you drop me anywhere else until he can chew me out...” For once Steve was looking at his shoes when he addressed the AI.

“Very good, Captain. And may I say what a pleasure it is to see an Avenger in an interview that doesn’t need to be censored for language or nudity?” JARVIS answered.

Steve let his breath out in an amused huff, allowing himself a brief, cynical smile. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure the bar is set extremely low.”

“The late nineties were a dark period for Mr. Stark,” JARVIS confirmed.

Frowning, Steve reminded himself it didn’t matter if Tony had screwed up a thousand interviews; he still had to deal with the fallout from this one, which had Steve steeling himself for Tony’s reaction. He looked up as the elevator stopped, and muttered, more to himself than to JARVIS, “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Instead of opening to Tony’s spacious lounge and kitchen, the elevator let Steve out at a hallway that felt almost industrial, with muted gray carpeting and neutral walls without paintings or artwork. The doors were all sturdy metal, with handprint and retina scanners, all glowing an ominous red except for one.

Steve went for the green-lit door. The latch opened to his touch and swung silently on its hinges, revealing a storeroom full of metal shelves forming shadowy aisles. Feeling strangely like an intruder, Steve called, “Tony?”

A crash answered him, not quite muffling Tony’s shout: _“Fucking shit!”_

“What are you doing in h— Holy shit.” Steve had made it to the end of the aisle and turned the corner to find Tony, stark naked, standing amidst a pile of fallen boxes, facing a huge glass display wall. Inside were all of Steve’s old uniforms — from the USO, from his first combat missions, even his very first shield. “What... How...?”

_Why?_

“This is _not_ what it looks like,” Tony said, holding up a hand. He didn’t bother to try and cover himself, but he probably didn’t care that he was naked. “This isn’t even on the same _planet_ as what it looks like.”

“You didn’t...” Steve shook his head, trying to clear it. Everything on display was from the war. None of his new designs were there. “Did _Howard..._?”

“Bucky. Look. See?” Tony swiped down, overturning two of the boxes, spilling files and old filmstrips everywhere in his search. He came up brandishing a clear box, a little larger than a shoebox, with something blue and brown inside.

Steve risked stepping closer to get a better view. It looked like a teddy bear wearing a blue uniform like the one Bucky wore back in the Howling Commandos days. “I don’t... What is it?” He held his hand out for the box.

“Bucky Bear,” Tony said, handing it over. “Prototype. Dad’s marketing team came up with it, but he quashed it. Now, we revive the old designs” — he crouched down and went back to rooting through the files — “and Scary Robo-Assassin becomes a cuddly plush toy.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding. They made him into a _bear?_ He’ll be furious.” Steve cracked a grin and tore his eyes away from Tony’s back to look more closely at the stuffed animal. “Is this really necessary? He’s supposed to stay out of the limelight.”

“If Ms. Lahiri doesn’t have Bucky’s name now, she will by the end of the day. It’s a little obvious,” Tony said with a shrug. He stood up, most of his attention still on the files. “Huh. That thing’s hand-sewn. Like I said, prototype. Maybe we can auction it off for a charity or something.”

“No. Bucky should have it. If it was Howard’s” — Steve stopped himself before he revealed something inappropriate to Tony — “Howard’s choice not to make them, shouldn’t it be Bucky’s choice what happens? At least with this one?”

Tony frowned, looking from the file to the bear. “I... suppose?” he said uncertainly. “This was after the War, when Dad was distracted. He must’ve forgotten about it. It was huge with the focus groups...”

“Distracted? With the Tesseract?” Steve took a moment to wonder why Tony had never been intrigued with the Tesseract when Loki started playing with it again.

Tony huffed and glanced up from the files. “Or S.H.I.E.L.D. or a million other things he never bothered telling me about,” he said a bit bitterly. “I have to get these files to PR and R&D. Go give your boyfriend his chew toy.”

“Okay.” Steve turned away, glad to leave the shrine to his former self. “But Tony, he was a good man. And a good scientist. Don’t forget that, in all of this.”

“You _would_ say that,” Tony muttered. “You were his favorite kid.”

Steve clenched his teeth around the phrase “that’s not fair” to keep himself from blurting it out. He had no idea what Howard was like as a father or what Tony’s childhood had been like. “I wasn’t there, Tony. You were. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since defrosting, it’s that nostalgia is a powerful drug.”

“Nostalgia? My dad didn’t —” Tony cut off and shook his head. “Forget it. Good work on the interview. Go see your boyfriend. The rest of the team will be coming in by tonight, so prep him for introductions.”

Steve looked pointedly at the display wall behind Tony full of memorabilia, then let it go. “Yeah, okay. Sorry about the slip up. I was trying not to make more work for you. See you tonight.” He waved the box with the bear in it and added, “Thanks for this.”

“Pants, later,” was all Tony said in response.

As Steve let himself out of the room, he said, “JARVIS, don’t let him forget to put on clothes before the team shows up.”

“I will endeavor to do my best, Captain,” JARVIS said, and even Steve’s werewolf hearing caught a resigned, even exasperated note to the computer’s tone. Apparently, pants were an issue for Tony, just as they were for Bucky.

 

~~~

 

“Howard made it?” Bucky asked softly, holding the acrylic box very carefully. His thoughts and emotions were a swirling mass of uncertainty and regret and loss.

“Well, his marketing team did, I guess.” Steve wasn’t sure what sort of comfort Bucky might want over the loss of Howard, but he couldn’t help putting his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and sending him supportive thoughts.

Bucky leaned against Steve and nodded, though Steve suspected he hadn’t heard. His fingers curved, claws extending, and the acrylic box shattered, gunshot-loud. Steve twitched in surprise, blinking reflexively. Bucky brushed the shards off the bear and onto the ruined carpet, then lifted the bear to his face. Eyes closed, he breathed deeply, and Steve felt a pang of loss and affection.

“It smells familiar,” Bucky said softly. “Do you think it’s Howard?”

“Sure, Buck. It could be. It’s been sealed in that box the whole time.” Steve had more faith in the power of suggestion than anything, but he tried to believe what he said for Bucky’s sake.

With a quiet sigh, Bucky turned and curled up against Steve’s side, drawing his legs up onto the couch. He dropped the bear in Steve’s lap so he could take hold of Steve’s other arm. A tug was all the hint Steve needed to turn and pull Bucky into his arms.

“You really think I’ll start to remember more as I heal?” Bucky asked quietly.

“I do, yeah. And I’m not just saying that. Tony doesn’t understand what tact is, so he wouldn’t sugar-coat something to make us feel good. If he believes the serum will heal your brain and bring back your memories, then it’ll happen.” This Steve believed fully, and he made sure his conviction was apparent to Bucky.

“We should show it to Sam,” Bucky said, twisting around so he could get at the waistband of his jeans. “Can you carry it for me?”

“Don’t want to get slobber on it?” Steve smirked at Bucky as he picked the plush bear up. “I might want to go wolf, too, you know.”

Bucky snorted and stood up, pulling off his shirt. “Sam’s going to have questions for you about your interview, Mr. Celebrity. Besides, I want more breakfast, and he can’t resist the starving wolf thing.”

“You know he’s on to you, right? He just wants to make sure you’re well fed.” Steve stood up and tugged on Bucky’s belt loops to bring him close for a kiss.

“That’s how I know he’s one of us,” Bucky said, unzipping his fly before he wrapped his arms around Steve’s body. “He takes good care of both of us — like we do, him.”

“Yeah...” Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s neck, then nipped at his shoulder. “He’s really good. But he may never want to be _pack._ ”

Bucky growled softly, one hand sliding up Steve’s back to ruffle through his hair. “He will, once he decides if he wants Natasha first. Or once _she_ decides if she can like us or not.”

“Nat won’t be with him if he’s a wolf, Buck. If Sam decides to be with her, that’s it.” Steve bowed his head so Bucky would play with the hair at the back of his neck, then shivered at how it tickled. He’d rather concentrate on that than the idea of Sam forsaking them for Nat. Not that Steve could blame him...

“He likes us _and_ her.” Bucky shrugged. “He can love all of us, too. And she’s on your team, so we know she likes you.”

“She used to. I dunno anymore. _I_ think of her as ‘us’, but...” Steve shook his head. “I’m not worried about Sam still liking us. I just don’t think Nat will be into the _‘and’_ thing. And I don’t want to make her nervous.” It actually hurt Steve that Natasha had made herself scarce since he’d turned. He valued her friendship a lot, and the idea that she wasn’t able to be close to him anymore was painful.

“She’s strong. Give her time.” Bucky leaned back in Steve’s arms, and his smile turned impish. “Besides, you’re adorable. She could never be scared of you.”

Steve scoffed. “She was scared of _you_ , and you’re the the most beautiful thing there is. Apart from her, I mean.”

Surprised, Bucky asked, “You think she’s beautiful?”

“Yeah?” Steve was pulled up short by the question. “I thought that was plain fact: Nat’s gorgeous. End of story.”

“Well, yeah, but not more than me,” Bucky said with a frown. “At least, not now that I got a haircut.”

“Peacock.” Steve grinned indulgently at Bucky. “Didn’t I just say you were pretty? You and Nat are tied for most gorgeous in the Tower. How’s that?”

“For an artist, you’re kinda blind,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Hey. You should draw me, then show it to her. That’ll help her get past everything. You used to draw me, right?”

“Yeah...” Steve felt his face flush in guilt. “Kind of a lot.”

Bucky tipped his head curiously. “Didn’t you like it?”

Steve bent his head to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t want to have to look him in the eye to admit this stuff. “Too much. I used to draw you even when you weren’t posing for me. Like... when you were asleep. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Bucky rubbed at his back and turned to kiss his neck.

“Isn’t that... I dunno, creepy? It’s not asking permission — consent. I didn’t think about it that way at the time, I just took advantage of the moments when you’d actually stay still. But you should have a say —”

“Steve,” Bucky cut in. “I was yours even then, right?”

“I... I dunno. I certainly didn’t think so. But I didn’t know what it meant to be somebody’s, or I would have realized sooner that I’ve always been yours.” Steve raised his head to kiss Bucky’s ear.

“Yeah, well... Somewhere inside, I’ve always loved you.” Bucky touched Steve’s jaw to hold him in place, then turned him for a kiss that was slow and sweet and full of the love that Steve felt through their bond.

Steve’s throat threatened to close up, even as Bucky stepped back to drop his pants, then shift into wolf form. “Me, too, babe.” He dug his fingers into the thick fur at Bucky’s nape and tugged gently. “Come on. Let’s go show Sam your bear.”

 

~~~

 

“This is gorgeous,” Sam said, gently cradling the bear in his palms. “It’s really seventy years old? How come the fabric is still soft?”

“Howard kept it stored safely away, I guess. It was in a sealed box.” Steve shrugged at Sam, but kept his fingers combing through Bucky’s fur.

“You’re a lucky wolf,” Sam told Bucky. He handed the bear back to Steve, then ruffled Bucky’s fur, right behind his ears. Steve felt a surge of pleasure and contentment as Sam unerringly found the spots that always itched.

“He sure feels like one when you touch him...” It probably should have felt weird speaking for Bucky like that, but Steve knew Bucky wouldn’t mind.

“Then I guess I’m gonna have to spoil him some more.” Sam leaned down and kissed Bucky’s muzzle, then beckoned for them to follow him to the kitchen. “Eggs, sausage, grits, and what might be the last damn bacon in Manhattan, the way you two eat it.”

“I have no idea what we did to deserve you, but I’m damned glad we did it.” Steve stepped forward and threw his arm over Sam’s shoulder to hug him from behind.

“I’d say something about yesterday afternoon and last night, but I don’t want you getting more of an ego, what with having your own Smithsonian exhibit and _Time_ magazine interview.”

“Pff. That’s Captain America. He’s the famous one.” Steve turned his head so his mouth was right by Sam’s ear. “And we told you, last night wasn’t about ego; it was about _you._ ”

“Yeah, well, I’m thinking you two can make it ‘about me’ any damn time you want,” Sam said, leaning back into Steve’s arms. He tipped his head back and turned so he could brush a kiss over Steve’s jaw. “ _After_ breakfast. Because I know somebody here is starving.”

Bucky let out a dramatic whine, even though Steve could feel the pleasure radiating from him. Sam _liked_ them. For Bucky, it really was that simple. That _significant_.

For Steve, it had always been about loyalty, but Sam had proven that with flying colors, too. They really were the two luckiest wolves in New York. “Get him used to eating second breakfast, and you’ll never get a break. He can be a demanding jerk when he wants to.”

“Kinda like someone _else_ got demanding last night?” Sam challenged, smirking at Steve.

“Who, me?” Steve pulled back and slid his hands to Sam’s hips, then gave them a little shove to get him moving. As Sam took the hint and headed for the pans warming on the stove, Steve said, “I remember pleading a lot. Is that what you mean?”

Over Bucky’s high barks of laughter, Sam said, “Yep. Something like that. Now make yourself useful and get plates. Bucky, you eating on the floor or at the counter?”

With a scrabble of claws that Steve hoped didn’t crack into the tile flooring, Bucky ran around the kitchen island to Sam’s other side and slid down to his belly like a runner stealing third base. His tail thumped, and he gave another falsely pathetic whine of starvation.

“Uh huh. Get him one of those big bowls, Steve. He shouldn’t have to eat off the floor when he knocks food off his plate.”

Steve complied with Sam’s order, bringing the dishes to the stove for serving, then leaned down to scratch Bucky’s ears. “You are the most spoiled werewolf ever, pup.” He kissed Bucky’s muzzle, then got out of Sam’s way and said, “Not saying you don’t deserve to be — just that you are.”

Sam caught Steve’s arm and pulled him close for a kiss on the cheek. “Both of you deserve it,” he said softly. Then, grinning, he added, “Within reason. So sit and let me feed you, and then you can get started on the dishes.”


	41. Chapter 41

The history show — this one on the Civil Rights movement — paused and went mute a heartbeat before JARVIS said, “My apologies, but Mr. Stark has invited you all to join him for drinks. The other Avengers have begun to arrive.”

Bucky whined at the interruption and lifted his head from Sam’s lap just enough to give Sam and Steve a pleading look. Sam smiled down at Bucky and ruffled his ears, saying, “I wanted to hit the gym, anyway. Not all of us can eat the way you two do and still stay in shape.”

Steve raised his head from where it had been resting on Sam’s shoulder. “What do you mean? Aren’t you coming, too? You should meet the rest of your team, Sam.”

Sam didn’t have to be pack for Steve to catch the warmth and appreciation in his smile. “Thanks. Means a lot to me,” he said, looking down almost shyly.

Leaning in to kiss Sam’s cheek, Steve murmured, “You got here on your own merit, Sam. You’re a damned good soldier and an even better friend. You’ll fit right in with the geniuses and the assassins and the god.” He glanced down at Bucky and smirked, “And your wolves.”

Affectionately, Bucky pushed up on his forelegs, claws piercing through the sofa cushions in his enthusiasm to lick Sam’s face. Sam laughed and caught Bucky by the muzzle, giving him a shove that barely budged him. “Wolf slobber! No dessert for you!” With a pathetic whine, Bucky collapsed against them both, mouth pointedly closed. Hiding a grin, Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Steve, saying, “Can’t take him anywhere.”

“Nope. But it doesn’t stop me from trying.” Steve looked at Bucky and said, “You staying wolf for this? Because I’m guessing Nat will be there...”

Guilt hit Steve, an inward flinch that Bucky didn’t show in his body language. He looked away and stood more carefully, shaking cushion stuffing off his claws as he hopped down from their laps.

_Shit._

Scrambling to keep his hands on Bucky’s fur, Steve said, “I’m sorry, babe. Hang on. JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain?” the computer asked.

“Which of the Avengers are here?” Steve had managed to keep Bucky near his feet and was scratching the fur of his neck and back.

“Agent Barton brought Dr. Banner in via a helicopter acquired under dubious circumstances, Captain,” JARVIS said.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and he asked, “Dubious circumstances?”

“Mr. Stark instructed me to investigate only as much as required to cover the agent’s trail.”

“I said we were a good team. I never said anything about being model citizens.” Steve shrugged at Sam and then looked back up at the ceiling. “What about Nat? Is she home?”

“No, Captain. She’s still in Washington D.C. I understand she acquired a target of interest and wished to deal with him before returning to Manhattan.”

“Of course,” Steve said, unsurprised. Nat was supposed to be keeping a low profile, but she wouldn’t let a target escape. At least he knew that if she couldn’t handle it, she’d call for backup — and he’d be the first to respond. He patted Sam’s shoulder and said, “So much for dinner with her tonight. Sorry. Work comes first.”

“I hear you,” Sam said with a wry smile. “Guess I can feed the two of you instead. JARVIS, we’re gonna need about two hundred pounds of groceries, heavy on the Andouille sausage and bacon.”

“Very good, Sam,” JARVIS said. “It’s a pleasure to stock provisions of the non-distilled, drinkable variety for Tower residents.”

Steve got up and rested his hand on Bucky’s back. “You know, if Tony was smart, he’d hire you as his live-in cook to make sure he ate. Not that you don’t have a vast array of other skills and talents. I’m just saying...”

“I’m afraid he spends as much time bypassing my health and wellbeing protocols as he did programming them in,” JARVIS explained.

“Jesus. You’re _all_ crazy,” Sam said as he also stood. He brushed ineffectively at the wolf fur covering his clothes — Steve didn’t even notice anymore — and said, “Good thing I got practice dealing with all kinds at the VA. Maybe I’ll take some night classes, too, if I’m gonna be managing all of you.”

Steve couldn’t help turning a goofy grin on Bucky as his affection for Sam overflowed. “Well, now we know who’s the pack mother... Come on. Let’s go meet Hawkeye and Hulk.”

 

~~~

 

The first thing that hit Steve as the elevator doors opened was a jumble of smells: tomatoes and garlic, pepperoni and spicy sausage, roasted vegetables, and... donuts? Bucky’s head came up, and he sniffed the air, muzzle pointing right towards the kitchen off to the right. Hunger shot through Bucky, confirming Steve’s suspicions.

Those were definitely donuts.

Werewolf or not, though, Steve had manners. He fisted his left hand in Bucky’s fur to keep him from attacking the kitchen and instead walked over to the bar, where a man in travel-rumpled clothes was slumped tiredly in one of the barstools. Apparently, he was unimpressed by Tony’s discourse on a case of scotch he’d acquired at auction.

“Bruce. Good to see you again.” Steve leaned against the far end of the bar and waved, keeping Bucky close in case he made Bruce nervous. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here.”

“You heard about the helicopter?” Bruce asked, glancing at Bucky, then Sam. He seemed just a little anxious, but he was hiding it pretty well. Without a werewolf’s sense of smell, Steve might not have even noticed.

“Taken care of,” Tony said dismissively, pushing a drink across the bar to Bruce. “I told you, nothing to worry about. Well, other than HYDRA. One helicopter is nothing. I’ll buy you ten. Drink, guys?”

“Water for us, thanks,” Steve said, which got him a deep sigh from his caffeine-and-sugar-addicted packmate. “Sam? This is Dr. Bruce Banner. Bruce, Sam Wilson. Pararescue and new team member.”

Sam went to shake Bruce’s hand, and though Sam’s back was to Steve, he saw the way the tense line of Bruce’s shoulders eased at Sam’s ready smile. “Nice to meet you, Doc.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bruce answered. “Pararescue. That’s Air Force?”

“Yep. I got out a little while back, and then I found that old man” — he pointed back at Steve — “wandering lost on the National Mall. Figured I’d bring him back home for you all.”

“Don’t let him fool you with that crap. He helped take down the Insight helicarriers. With nothing but a pair of wings.” Steve let his pride come through in his voice.

“A couple of guns, too,” Sam said, accepting his unasked-for drink with a nod of thanks to Tony.

“And this must be Sergeant Barnes?” Bruce said, gesturing uncertainly towards Bucky.

“Yeah. This is my Bucky. He’s kind of shy, so he’s in wolf form. If it bothers you, I can try to coax him into his skin...” Steve realized that he hadn’t thought to bring clothes for Bucky if he did want to shift. At least Tony was wearing pants, so JARVIS must have reminded him.

“Not at all. I, uh, didn’t know... I probably shouldn’t be surprised that there are werewolves,” he said sheepishly, holding out a hand to Bucky. “Hi.”

Bucky glanced up at Steve, who let go of his fur and nodded. “Go ahead.” Still a bit nervous, Bucky padded forward. Instead of nosing at Bruce’s hand, though, he pushed up onto his hind legs, braced his right paw against the bar, and put his left paw on Bruce’s palm.

Bruce’s eyes went right to the metal leg, and Tony said, “You should see the scans. The power source was created using the Tesseract, which is how it changes shape with him. The neural network is incredible.”

“Gamma radiation?” Bruce asked.

“Negligible. The exterior plating shields it from detection, and he got a dose of the same serum as Cap, so his body repairs the effects before they can take hold. It’s perfection in engineering,” Tony said in a rush.

Bucky’s jaws opened, and he huffed, giving Tony an amused look. Then he dropped back down and returned to Steve, sitting comfortably next to him.

Steve’s fingers found their way into Bucky’s fur as naturally as breathing. “I take it that means you want to look at it again, Tony?”

“Now that Bruce is here, it’d probably be a good idea,” Tony said smoothly. He passed two cobalt blue bottles of water over to Steve, then frowned at Bucky, who was tall enough to look over the bar. “Candy dish,” he said, pointing towards the living room.

“Or I can get him a bowl from the kitchen,” Sam said, one eyebrow raised.

“Kitchen. _Clint!”_ Tony shouted. “Bring us a bowl!”

“Is he _cooking_ in there?” Steve couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, but it had never crossed his mind that Barton did anything but perch up high and keep an eye on everything.

“Reheating.”

Clint walked into view, wearing a ratty old T-shirt and jeans, with bare feet. “What —” He cut off, and his face lit up with a smile, eyes locked to Bucky. “Aww, werewolf,” he said, walking right towards him.

Steve’s hand clenched in Bucky’s fur purely on instinct. Despite his surprise, he wasn’t worried about Clint — not since they’d gotten him back from Loki’s mind control. He let go of Bucky’s nape and petted his head, watching the two of them closely.

Clint leaned down a little and held out his hands, saying, “Clint Barton. Or you can call me Hawkeye, if you want.” For some reason, he was wearing his comms earpiece, and he had his head tilted slightly — not to pull away from Bucky’s muzzle, but as if...

Memory flashed of Steve’s own difficulty hearing, back in the days before the serum. Was Clint hard of hearing? Steve never would’ve guessed it.

Bucky nosed at each of Clint’s hands, sniffing, and then pushed forward. Apparently, Clint had Bucky’s approval, judging by the relaxed, calm sense of happiness that flowed through the pack bond.

Clint buried his fingers in Bucky’s fur, scratching down to his throat, then back up to behind his ears. “You gonna be part of the team? I have some tricks I can show you.”

“Not the ‘sit-stay’ variety?” Sam asked protectively, walking over to stand behind Bucky.

“Combat tactics. Not my first time fighting with a werewolf.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? Where were you last week when we were all scrambling to even believe in this stuff, let alone know how to fight it.” He looked down at Bucky. “Or _with_ it, now.”

“Quebec City, helping the RCMP free the mayor from HYDRA.” Still petting Bucky, Clint frowned up at Steve. “The whole _covert_ thing means we _don’t_ make the news, Cap.”

“Or we buy the media companies,” Tony said.

“You’ve worked with werewolves before?” Bruce asked, getting down off his stool, though he didn’t come any closer.

Clint nodded. “Ireland, back in 2006.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal and grinned at Bucky. “Want some pizza?” In answer, Bucky gave a wolfy grin and licked Clint’s face.

“You said the magic word, Clint. But any insight on how this works would be appreciated. I’ve already figured out that we can move together really well, and the bond means we know what the other is going to do, but...” Steve trailed off as Clint looked up at him in surprise.

“ _You’re_ a werewolf?” he asked.

_Shit._

Steve had figured Tony let that cat out of the bag already. He winced and didn’t look over at Bruce as he nodded. “We’re kind of together — partners, I guess — and... It just sort of happened.”

Clint got up, looking hopefully at Steve. “Can I see?”

“There isn’t a scar. I heal too well... Oh, you mean my wolf?” When Clint nodded, Steve flushed. “I’ve got to take off my clothes so they don’t tear. Hang on.” He figured it was better to get this over with when Nat wasn’t home so that they all would recognize him. Not that a huge wolf running through a city wouldn’t be obvious enough...

He turned to Tony, who said, “The Tower’s your home, too. Take off whatever you want. JARVIS, recording?”

“If I must, sir,” JARVIS said dryly.

Tony grinned at Steve. “Pepper. She likes you.”

“Tony, no. Come on. I’m not gonna strip down right here...” What was it about Tony’s too-confident puppy dog eyes that actually worked on Steve? He sighed and tugged off his t-shirt. As he toed off his shoes, he said, “JARVIS, allow me some modesty in your camera angles, please?”

“Though that isn’t part of my core programming, I believe I can accommodate, Captain,” JARVIS said.

“Traitor,” Tony accused.

“It’s good to see nothing’s changed around here,” Bruce muttered.

Sam glanced at him. “Are they _always_ like this?”

“You have no idea.”

Steve shrugged as he turned away from the group and undid his belt and jeans. “It’s Tony’s fault. Bucky and I swear he’s too much like Howard for his own good.” He shoved this pants down as he dropped to all fours and landed on his paws to kick out of the fabric.

“Different coloring,” Clint said, reaching out with one hand to scratch under Steve’s muzzle. “The others were like that, too.”

“Can’t be genetic,” Bruce muttered thoughtfully. He pointed at Bucky, asking, “Did _you_... What? Is it like in the movies?”

As Bucky nodded, Sam said, “A bite, yeah. You’d think Steve would look like Bucky ’cause of that, but...”

Clint huffed and grinned at the two werewolves. “It’s magic, not genetics. Right?”

Steve nodded and stepped closer to Clint so he’d keep scratching, letting go of the thread of the conversation to revel in the sensation. Clint was unafraid, accepting of the werewolves — maybe even envious of them. And he knew _exactly_ how to find all the itchy spots that made Steve’s eyes close in bliss he shared with Bucky —

Bright lights flashed on and off, visible even through closed eyelids. “Priority alert,” JARVIS cut in sharply. Steve blinked his eyes open.

“Onscreen,” Tony said, and the room filled with light from the holo-displays in the windows.

Steve pushed up onto his hind legs, front paws braced on the bar. It showed the all too familiar view of Camp Lehigh, where a massive robot — _building_ -sized, if Steve was judging the scale correctly — was clawing its way out of the rubble left by S.H.I.E.L.D.’s missile. The chest was a flickering blue-green display like one of Tony’s holos.

And the face shown in that holo-display was Arnim Zola’s.

Bucky’s growl echoed in Steve’s own throat, and without thinking he shifted — not into his skin, but into something more powerful and more ready to tear Zola apart once and for all.

Bruce backed up and turned, taking a deep breath. Tony was saying something that Steve didn’t hear through his rage — but he _did_ hear Sam quietly say, “Easy, Cap,” as he put a hand on Steve’s arm.

For a moment, Steve stared at Sam’s hand resting on gray fur covering a muscular arm — not a wolf’s leg. Only then did he realize that he’d finally found his hybrid form.

_Well, shit._

Leave it to Zola to bring out Steve’s battle-ready werewolf. He looked over at Bucky, who’d pushed up onto his hind legs. A quick shift put Bucky in his skin, eyes fixed on the holos. “I need a rifle,” he growled.

Steve turned to see his team ready for orders, without a hint of fear of his form. A mix of affection and fierce joy, laced liberally with adrenaline, hit his system. “JARVIS, keep feeding us intel. Monitor for interference from any other factions — S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, the government, anyone. Tony, we need transport.”

“Agent Romanoff’s got the quinjet,” Tony said. “We have Clint’s stolen helicopter.”

“It’ll get us where we’re going,” Clint said.

Steve’s claws twitched when he saw Zola on the holo again. “Bruce, you with us?”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah. I figured something would happen.”

“Good. Sam, you too. Tony, we need gear,” Steve said.

“Armory’s one level below the workshop,” Tony said as he hopped over the bar. Always the showoff. “Clint, you set?”

Clint nodded. “My gear’s still in the chopper. Coming, Bruce?”

“Not like I need gear,” Bruce said with a resigned sigh.

Clint clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, but that means you get shotgun. And hey, Cap?” he shouted as they headed for the elevators.

“Yeah, Clint?”

“Nice tail,” Clint said, deadpan.

“Pull it, and I’ll sic my boyfriend on you, Hawkeye.” The growl in Steve’s voice was full of humor.

Bucky snorted and picked up Steve’s discarded clothes. “Take off your fur. You’ll never fit in a helicopter like that.”

Steve reached out for his clothes and closed a human hand around them. Even in hybrid form, it wasn’t hard to get back into his skin if he was able to think rationally. He didn’t have time to put the clothes on — not that they were battle-appropriate — but it didn’t matter. They had more important things to worry about besides decency.

“JARVIS, armory, full access for those three,” Tony ordered as he headed for the stairs to his workshop. “Meet you guys at the chopper.”

Steve nodded, looking towards the elevators. Clint and Bruce were getting into one that would take them to the hangar level. A second was already opening the doors without anyone hitting the call button, thanks to JARVIS.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief that he had most of his team to handle this emergency. In fact, Nat might even be there...

_Shit._ Would she want to even see him and Bucky? He needed to check. He could have JARVIS call her, but he wanted this to be more private. Didn’t Tony have anything as normal as a phone in the Tower?

“There’ll be gear for me, right?” Sam asked.

Before Steve could answer, Bucky said, “I remember reading a threat assessment of the Tower, including an inventory of munitions. There’s gear for an army here.”

Sam laughed grimly. “Why am I not surprised?”

Steve finally spotted a Bluetooth earpiece on the table near the foyer with the elevators. He snatched it up and asked, “JARVIS? Is this a phone or comms?”

“Both, Captain,” JARVIS answered. “Whom would you like to contact?”

“I need a private line to Nat,” Steve said as he put on the earpiece. He heard JARVIS confirm, followed by a few seconds of silence — long enough for the three of them to get into the elevator.

After a _click_ , Nat answered, “This is Romanoff.”

“Nat. Zola’s on the rampage. You with us?”

“JARVIS routed the feed here. I’m on course for Camp Lehigh, e.t.a. thirty minutes, as long as the camo on the quinjet stays up.”

“Roger that. We’ve got Banner, Hawkeye, and Sam.” He paused for a heartbeat bracing himself against the possible loss of his strongest teammate and one of his closest friends. “Bucky’s on board, too. And... I found my hybrid form.”

“Are you confident it won’t throw you off?”

“I... I have no idea. But at the moment it comes when it wants, and I don’t have to think about how to use it. It’s still me. Just bigger, stronger, and hairier.” Steve caught Bucky’s eye and brushed his arm.

“Copy that.”

Steve blinked. “You’re okay with this?”

“Cap...” Natasha’s voice softened a bit. “They used Barnes to force us to overcome fear in battle. If you’re even stronger and faster as a werewolf, and we have a sniper like Barnes on our side, we’re that much more effective. I’m practical.”

“You’re perfect.” Steve breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Is this a secure line?”

“Yeah?” Steve frowned, wondering what else they could talk about that would need privacy.

“I called some of my old contacts,” she said quietly. “They tried to use Barnes to make more werewolves, but as a pack, their minds were too strong. They resisted all of HYDRA’s attempts to condition them. In the end, HYDRA deemed Barnes the most useful and killed off the others.”

“I...” The near-miss of losing Bucky again stunned Steve into silence. Sam and Bucky exchanged a worried look. Bucky put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, a hint of worry threading through the battle-readiness that flooded his mind and body. The physical contact gave Steve the strength to take a breath and say, “This — This isn’t the time, Nat.”

“It _is_ , Cap,” she insisted. “That’s Zola out there, which means HYDRA. As long as you and Barnes are together, though, it means they can’t pull on his old conditioning to take him back.”

_Jesus._

In the rush to battle, Steve hadn’t even considered what sort of control HYDRA might still be able to wield upon Bucky. Knowing it was impossible to lose him to HYDRA was important. Especially with regards to the trust of the team. “My God. Nat, you just saved the day. Thanks. I'll say it again: you’re perfect.”

“I know,” she said, a hint of smugness creeping into her voice. “Romanoff out.”

Steve heard the click if the line disconnecting, then sighed and leaned into Bucky’s touch. Knowing that Nat was still with them would make going into this fight a lot easier. Maybe at some point soon she could be close with them outside of a mission, too — at least close enough to make Sam happy. He liked her as much as he liked Steve and Bucky, and Steve couldn’t feel a hint of jealousy at the thought. Even if they weren’t all pack, they were all a team. Hopefully, all friends.

Sam rested his hand on Steve’s other shoulder for a moment as they waited for the elevator to stop, and he couldn’t help growling in pleasure that the three of them were going into battle together. Steve didn’t have his own suit — there was no time to grab one from Tony’s hidden archive — but he had his shield, his claws, his pack, and his team. That was all he needed.

The elevator door opened to the industrial hallway where Steve had met with Tony earlier. The double doors at the far end were open, showing racks of Stark Industries guns. Enough to equip an army, just like Bucky had said.

“That should work. Right, Sam?” Steve asked as the three of them broke into a run.

“Against a... whatever the fuck that giant robot thing was?” Sam asked with a sharp laugh.

Steve shrugged. “Nazi scientist who got his brain downloaded into a computer and apparently has a robot body.”

As soon as they hit the doorway, Bucky went right for a rack of long rifles with bipods and massive scopes. His mind hummed with the wolfy equivalent of a contented purr as he reached for one of them. “Just one more thing we need.”

Beyond the guns, Steve spotted a wardrobe full of every type of camo imaginable, from urban to jungle, along with all black suits. Everything was neatly organized and labeled by size. With the Hulk, Iron Man, and two werewolves, there was no sense in trying for stealth. Steve went right for the black suits, and Sam followed him.

“Pants?” Steve asked.

Bucky huffed derisively, cradling the sniper rifle to his chest. “Not pants, Steve. Werewolves don’t need pants.”

“Then what, babe?”

“Can we bring the donuts?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with us through this! We hope we've been able to bring a little fuzzy cheer (and, yes, some angst) to your holiday season. We treasure all of our kudos, comments, and encouraging feedback -- and we look forwarding to bringing you some awesome fics in 2015!


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